


Specter

by jesuschristpizzalord



Category: GTA - Fandom, Grand Theft Auto - Fandom, Grand Theft Auto Online - Fandom, Grand Theft Auto V, San Andreas - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Horror, Murder, Mystery, Sci-Fi, trevor philips being useful, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-24 05:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuschristpizzalord/pseuds/jesuschristpizzalord
Summary: It was a murder that was never recognized. A woman whose story would never be told, until now. Most assumed the movie star turned politician was the good guy, the victim of a horrific accident that took the love of his life from him. Only one criminal has the ability to set the record straight and bring the true victim to justice.---Based on the easter egg of the ghost on Mt. Gordo in the game.





	1. Holy Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> Not at all self-indulgently turning my [GTA Online character](https://s22.postimg.cc/5o2445xkx/darya2k18.jpg) into a protagonist because she is my murder trash daughter and I love her.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We have learned that you have no honor._

Sunday is the day I give myself off every week. It’s supposed to be a quiet, stress-free day where I maintain the roots in my hair color, maybe get my nails done, and play Dragons in Dungeons with my friends. Running an underground arms manufacturing gig and a cocaine lab isn’t easy work, and I really look forward to my Sundays. 

Today was supposed to be no exception. I had rolled out of bed at 11, touched up the highlights in my hair with the shitty box highlight kit, and am now treating myself to a home pedicure. All the running I do around this god forsaken state, I deserve to pamper my lower half occasionally. I own a great foot water spa, with the bubbles and massagers and the good shit. I have my left foot sitting in that, my right foot propped up so I can paint my toenails, and a spoon full of peanut butter in my mouth. 

My phone vibrates, a text message to the DinD group chat from Trevor. “hey, have 2 cancel 2nite. sry.” 

Well, shit. The one thing I look forward to the most on my weekends will have to wait yet another week. T is usually pretty good about being a consistent DM, it makes me worry that he's cancelling without an explanation. 

I sigh, tossing my phone to the side. It barely misses my hairless cat, who had silently jumped onto the couch moments before. “Shit. Sorry, Donut.” 

She purrs regardless as she cuddles up on my left thigh. As a single woman living alone in Paleto Bay, I picked a pet that is low maintenance for when I have to be out all day, but still affectionate for when I feel lonely. A Sphynx was the perfect choice. 

As I finish the color on my last toe, I hear a huge explosion. It sounds like it’s from a few doors down. “What the fuck?” I say to my cat. 

I take the mostly empty spoon out of my mouth and lay it down next to her head as I stand, letting her finish the little bit of peanut butter left on it. Before I can reach my front window, a loud knock sounds on my door. I grab the sub compact out of the drawer in the cabinet by my front door and tuck it into the back pocket of my shorts. I open the door to a police officer. “Um, hi?”

“Ma’am, we have a robbery occurring at the Blaine County Savings Bank. One of the robbers is armed with a minigun, I suggest you and your family evacuate immediately until the mess is sorted out.”

“Fucking hell,” I say. “Alright, thank you.”

I close the door in the middle aged woman’s face, then pack some stuff in a bag. A change of clothes, my brush, toothbrush, and some food and litter for my cat. I then put Donut in her carrying crate. She doesn’t do car rides well, so I have to put her in a box and on the floor. She tried to jump out of my window last time I took her to the vet. 

After lacing up my black shoes, to match my black tank top, I put on my Vom Feuer cap backwards and head out to my garage. I like wearing outfits that show lots of skin, considering the money I’ve poured into the tattoos covering almost every inch of my arms, legs, and chest. 

My birthday present to myself last year was a Dewbauchee Vagner in a light aquamarine color, so I set her crate down on the passenger side and high tail it out of my garage. From my house on Procopio Drive, I can see the carnage barely 100 yards to the left. It’s brutal. 

I’m pissed at whoever is robbing the place, really. Not because I bank there- no sane resident of BC would, we all know the dirty money that gets funneled through there by local law enforcement. I’m pissed that I can feel my wet nail polish sticking to my sock, that I have an angry kitty who’s going to punish this car ride by clawing my feet through the blankets tonight, and that my otherwise perfect day off has had a massive wrench thrown into it that I can’t even fix with my table top game. 

My best friend lives in Grapeseed, next to the little office space where my first criminal enterprise start up was. It’s a short drive to her tiny one bedroom. I sigh, grab my cat and my bag out of my car, and walk into her house using the key she gave me years ago. “Bitch, I’m home.”

“Welcome home, slut.” 

I follow her voice to the living room,where she’s sitting on her couch watching Fame or Shame. I let my bag drop off my shoulder and say, “I brought your godkitty for a visit.” 

“Ooh, hand her over, please.” 

The short, slightly plump woman makes grabby hands toward me as I take my angry little goblin out and hand her to her. Luckily, Donut loves Bethany. She was there when I picked her up from the shelter, and held her on the drive to my house. She purrs contently as she gets gentle scratches on her head, and tries to bite the black cat eye glasses on Bethany’s face. I was the first of the two of us to pick out frames like these for my glasses, but she looks 10 times better in them. 

“Not that I don’t love seeing you two as often as possible, but what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

I plop down next to her and sigh again. “There’s a bank robbery with a mini gun at the Savings Bank literally two doors down from my house, the police told me to evacuate.” 

“Christ,” she says. “Need to stay the night?”

“Probably,” I say. “If you have an empty shoebox Donut can shit in.”

“I’m sure I can find something,” she says. “Great, you can join me on the hike my doctor said I have to take at least once a week or I’ll die.”

I chuckle. “You sure do take medical advice super literally.”

“We’re 31, apparently our metabolisms slow down after like, 28. My ass could have told us that, I just didn’t listen to it.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “That’s why I smoke a pack a day. I’m almost never hungry.”

“And you’re almost guaranteed to die at 35 at that rate. Regardless, I thought I’d hike Mount Gordo tonight, after the sun goes down. Sound good?”

“I guess,” I say. “I don’t want you to go out alone, anyway. Your luck, you’ll get eaten by a bobcat.”

+++

Hiking fucking sucks. My cat is back at Bethany’s house tucked into her bed, purring contently when we left. I’m out here in the humid San Andreas September summer, getting eaten alive by bugs, while Bethany almost crawls behind me. “Darya,” she says, all but gasping for breath. “Push me down this fucking mountain.”

“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,” I retort bitterly. “Fuck, dude. You’re making me waffles in the morning.”

“If I can stand in the morning, deal.”

We continue on for some reason, further up the trail. If we make it to the end, it’ll be a beautiful view over the Pacific Ocean. I’m starting to get more fatigued as we approach the clearing. I groan, resting my hands on my knees as I stop. “սպանիր ինձ.”

“If I kill you, you can’t eat waffles.”

“Valid point.”

While she chugs water out of her fancy vacuum sealed bottle, I catch my breath and look up to survey the rest of the trail. About 500 yards remain from here to the clearing we designated our stopping point. I have to do a double take. The spot over flat rocks that was previously vacant is now occupied by someone. I can’t quite see from this far away, but it looks like the shape of a woman. She’s just standing there. I frown, take a few steps forward, and say, “Beth?”

“Huh?”

“Did you see her before?”

She looks up as well and frowns. “What are you talking about?”

I turn and look at her, dumbfounded. “Do you not see the lady standing up ahead?”

“No, you fucking crackhead,” she says. “What lady?” 

I frown, turning back to look. She’s still there, hasn’t changed position at all. “I do cocaine, not crack. Better for your teeth.”

“Regardless, you’re seeing things. No one is over there.” 

“You’re the crackhead, then,” I say, and advance in the woman’s direction. I see her as I approach, clear as day. She’s in a white dress, maybe a nightgown. She has long black hair. I can’t make out facial features from here, but it’s definitely a human. She must be lost. “Hey!” I call out. “Are you okay?” 

I get no reply. I pick up the pace a little, jogging as best as I can on the rocky terrain. “Darya, you’re going to break something,” I hear from behind me. I elect to ignore it. 

When I reach the flat clearing, she’s gone. I frown, turning in all directions trying to find her. She was here literally a second ago, clear as fucking day. Bethany finally catches up, panting still. “Okay, crazy cakes. Do you believe me now?”

“She was just here,” I say. I’m stupefied, how does a person just disappear? If she’d fallen off the cliff, she surely would have screamed. 

“Switch to pot, cause the coke is doing your brain in,” she says. “Come on, there’s a couch back home with our names on it. The Loneliest Robot in Great Britain is on Netflix finally, let’s go eat back all the calories we just burned and check it out.”

I’m still frowning and glancing around as I nod. “Yeah, okay.”

The hike back down the mountain is silent between us. I’m a little freaked out still, plus sore from this excursion. The drive back to her house is short, maybe three minutes if traffic getting onto the highway is light. 

When we get inside, she throws her keys onto the coffee table and says, “I’m going to drink my weight in ice water if you want the shower first.”

“Thanks,” I say. 

I hear my cat meowing loudly. She sounds almost distressed, hissing occasionally. I frown. “Donut, what is it?” 

She comes running out of the bedroom, darting onto the couch. I walk over and pet her, to feel her shaking like a leaf. “What is it, sweetheart?”

She whines, then buries herself under a pillow. I’ve never seen her act like this before. I didn’t set her food out, maybe she’s hungry. I walk into Bethany’s room and turn on the light. Nothing is out of the ordinary, outside of it being a little chilly. The desert gets cold at night, though. That’s what I tell myself as I open my overnight bag and get my pajamas out. I also grab Donut’s food, then zip it back up. I feel the air conditioning kick on behind me, rather suddenly. My skin erupts into goosebumps. 

I turn around to head into the bathroom and see someone standing directly behind me. Face hollow, skin pale, eyes wide with blood trailing out of them. Her mouth hangs open as her body hovers inches above the ground. Her nightgown is ripped, bloodstained, and tattered. She moves in a flash to be right in my face. I can do nothing but scream. She screams back, high pitched and bloodcurdling. It almost sounds like she’s saying, “NO!” 

The last thing I remember before blacking out is the look in her eyes as she stares into mine. They’re angry, vengeful even. She wants to kill, and something tells me I’m on the receiving end of her rage.


	2. Revenga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My sweet, revenge will be your's for the taking._

_Darya? Darya! Darya Malkasian, wake up._

I feel a sandpaper tongue licking my face as I join the real world again, the sound of Bethany’s voice guiding me back to reality. I open my eyes, squinting at the light blinding me from above. Donut licks more aggressively as she realizes I’m awake. 

“What the fuck, dude?!” Bethany exclaims. “Are you alright?”

“Where is she?”

I try to sit up, but feel dizzy instantly. Bethany pulls me the rest of the way, then helps me sit up against her bed. She sits next to me and says, “What are you talking about?”

“She was here, Beth. The woman from the mountain.” 

I hug Donut, who had propped herself up against my chest, as Bethany says, “Darya, listen to me. There is no woman from the mountain. No one is or was in here with you. You’re seriously freaking me out. Did you eat today?” 

I frown. There’s no way I hallucinated the same person twice, that’s impossible. Did I imagine my cat freaking out? “Dar?”

“Yeah, I snacked on some peanut butter earlier, and had some coffee.”

“Okay, that’s where the problem is,” she says. “Come on.”

She hoists me to my feet and leads me to her couch, her arm firmly around my arms to keep me steady. “I’m not crazy, Bethany. I swear I saw her.”

I sit down with my cat in my lap, and Bethany kneels to my eye level. It doesn’t take much, considering she’s 4 inches shorter than me, and I’m only 5’4. “I believe that you saw what you think you saw, and I know you’re not crazy. You give yourself more nicotine, whisky, and coke in a day than you do calories and water, and it’s starting to affect you in more ways than just keeping you thin. This is a wakeup call, Darya. You have to start taking better care of yourself.” 

I roll my eyes and look down at the precious angel in my arms. I know she’s right in the grand scheme of things, I know I treat my body like I’m a decade younger than I am. I also know that what I saw was real. I nod finally. “You’re right.”

“Thank you, my favorite thing to hear,” she says. “I know you’re lonely, and depressed, and you handle those feelings the best way you know how to. Maybe you should consider the anti-depressants your doctor has suggested for the past five years.”

I chuckle a bit. “Do you work for the big pharma now?”

“Yes, and big soy and corn,” she says, smirking a bit at me. “Butthead. I love you, I just want you to live forever.”

“I know, mom,” I reply, returning her smile with a minor one of my own. 

She stands fully and makes her way into the kitchen, which is only separated from the living room by a small half wall. “Speaking of parents, have you spoken to yours lately?”

“Negative,” I say. “They’re 12 hours ahead, it’s hard to catch them awake when I am. I get an email whenever my mom remembers they own a computer, that’s about it.”

“They were deported literally a decade ago, I don’t understand why they don’t just apply for new work visas and come back.”

I shrug. “They realized how much they missed Armenia when they got back home. Fuck their daughter, who literally had to grow up overnight when they were taken and still has trouble being an adult sometimes. Whatever.”

She stays busy in the kitchen for twenty or so minutes, then comes back with plates full of food. “Taquitos, Doritos, and left over Easter candy I found at the back of my freezer last week.” 

“Wow, that is the pinnacle of healthy eating,” I joke, which earns a Dorito being thrown at my face. 

We binge on junk food and shitty Vinewood movies until three in the morning. I’m wired from seeing a fucking ghost an inch from my face, and she’s wired from dealing with my crazy ass. Finally, she says, “I’m out. You okay out here on the couch?”

I nod. “I’ll be fine. I know where the blankets are.”

“Good,” she says, yawning big as she stands. “Night, slut.”

“Night, hooker.”

+++

I can’t shake the feeling of something not being right. I leave Bethany’s house at four the next day, after eating the waffles she promised me last night for late lunch. The aftermath of the robbery is still apparent throughout Paleto Bay as I drive down the street to my house. The bricks on the right side of my house are charred slightly, but luckily, no structural damage that I have to deal with. 

I get Donut settled with her lunch, then plop down on my couch. I didn’t sleep well last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that face. My blood is running cold just thinking about it. Bethany might not have seen her, but I know she exists. I have to do something about this. 

I pick up my phone and text the one person I know who’s crazy enough to believe me, no questions asked. “You busy?” 

I light up a cigarette and wait for his reply. I know he cancelled DinD yesterday, but it’s worth a shot. I know I need to get to work, especially since it’s drop day for my cocaine business, but my stomach is in knots and I’m not in the position to wield an assault rifle right now. 

“depends. wat that mouth do?”

I roll my eyes. He’s been trying to get into my pants since I joined the group a year ago. “Maybe you’ll find out if you help me. Can I pick you up?”

“i’ll b waiting.”

“Alright Donut, mommy has a ghost to find,” I say to my cat. “We’ll clean your ears when I get home.”

 

I elect to take my motorcycle this time, so I don’t have to hike up a fucking mountain again. Not the safest option, but my thighs are Jell-o and I’m lazy. I don’t even bother to change clothes from my yesterday outfit, I’m desperate to get some answers. 

I rev up my pink Bati 801 and peel out of my garage. Sandy Shores is quite the drive, if I don’t want to cut through the forest. In my shorts, I elect to take the long way. I arrive to his trailer in 25 minutes, his crazy neighbor waving at me from next door. I give him a nod, then knock. 

The door swings open to the tall presence, wearing his Dusche Gold shirt and dirty jeans. “Hi, Shortcake.” 

“Trevor, good to see you,” I reply. “Ready to go?”

“Ready to go, but I need to know where we’re going first.”

I sigh curtly, then get right to the point. “We’re going to the top of a mountain to find a ghost so I can prove to my best friend that I’m not insane.”

“You are insane,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

As we walk over to my bike, I say, “Well isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Hey, my dad left me in a mall and my mom hasn’t hugged me since I was 2,” he says. “What’s your excuse?”

“The federal government broke down my parents’ door and pointed giant guns in their faces so they could ship them back to Armenia and leave me homeless for a year.”

“Sucks to suck,” he says. “Let’s go hunt Casper.” 

As we mount my bike, I turn to him and say, “If I feel a hand on either of my boobs, you won’t have hands anymore.”

“Save it for later, got it,” he says, and holds onto my waist firmly. 

I gun it for the road out of Sandy Shores, feeling his grip tighten even more on me. Another twenty minutes by bike brings us to the base of Mt. Gordo. There’s a road for service vehicles on the opposite side of the mountain from the hiking trail, which is what I drive up today. It’s on the side of the ocean, and winds up around the mountain until it reaches the top. I turn off my motorcycle and dismount it, beckoning Trevor to follow me. 

“Okay,” I say. “Last night, we were hiking and I saw a woman standing on the outlook a couple hundred yards from here. My best friend didn’t see her, she disappeared when I went to talk to her, and she appeared looking bloody and possessed at her house when we got back.” 

“Shit,” he says. “You were really talking about a ghost earlier. I thought you did too much coke again.”

“No,” I say. “This is real, T. And I need to find her again. I need to know that she’s real. Anything we can find, her body, clothes, evidence of a struggle, literally anything.” 

He stares at me for a few seconds, before saying, “Fuck it. I’m on it. Was it an actual body? A wisp? Charlie Brown in a sheet?” 

“She was a person, like I said before,” I say. “Long black hair, white dress, bloody eyes, screaming.”

“Fuck, that’s creepy,” he says. 

We split directions and start to examine the area. Besides a bunch of litter, used needles, and crushed beer cans, not much out of the ordinary. As I near the cliff, I hear something. It’s a scream, bloodcurdling, full of fear, but faint. It sounds almost like it’s coming from another dimension. I whip around and look at Trevor, who is looking at me with a matching look of panic. “Where did that come from?”

“The cliff,” Trevor says. “It sounded like someone was falling.” 

We both rush over and look. We’re alone up here, no one was near the edge and there’s nothing at the bottom but rocks and sand. “Okay, now this is getting weird,” Trevor says. “And I once got into a shoot out with an army of clowns.”

“You heard it, though,” I say. “I’m not crazy.”

“I’m not the best Litmus test for that, Shortcake.”

I put my hands on my hips and sigh. What does this mean? 

“Uh, Darya?”

“Hm?”

I turn around and see him looking down at the ground, on the same rock I saw her standing on yesterday. I follow his gaze with my eyes and see something written in bright red letters: JOCK. 

“What…” 

He takes his phone out and takes a picture before I think of it. He then leans down and takes a swipe of the liquid, smelling it first, then tasting it. “Definitely blood.”

“Ew, Trevor!” I shriek. 

“What? I’m iron deficient.”

“Gee, why haven’t I fucked you yet?”

He snorts, then spits on the ground. “Beats the fuck out of me, cupcake. We’re alone right now.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “Focus. What is Jock?” 

“Jock strap.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what it means. Jock strap. Jock… sports jock? Someone was bullied by jocks and jumped off the mountain?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure that happens more often than not. It’s possible.” 

“Fuck,” I say. “None of these can be coincidences.” 

“What’s the endgame here?” he asks. “Seriously. Say you figure out what Jock means, and the little girl crawls out of the well to visit you again. What are you trying to accomplish here?”

“I don’t know, Trevor,” I say. “But she’s doing this for a reason. Bethany couldn’t see her, she didn’t feel her like I did at her house. She wants me to see her. She wants me to figure something out.”

He shakes his head. “You are fucking insane, then.”

“So you’re not going to help me?”

“Of course I’m going to help you, fuck,” he says, kicking a rock near his foot into my shin. “But I’m not going to enjoy it.”

+++

Back at my house, I pull out my laptop and navigate to Eyefind. “Start searching.”

“What are you in the mood for, hentai? Granny wants it bad?”

I smack him across his head and say, “You know what to search. Jock. I’m ordering pizza, it’s going to be a late night.”

A pizza and a half and six hours later takes us to midnight. We have nothing. No one in the world has seen a ghost anywhere near Mt. Gordo, at least not that they’re willing to talk about. Searches for “jock” got us exactly what you’d expect— jock straps, jock itch, jockey training classes, and gay porn between jocks and nerds. 

“We’re getting nowhere,” Trevor groans, running his hand through his thinning hair. “This is pointless.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Sorry. My stash is in the kitchen if you want a bump.”

He shrugs, then stands. “I’m usually a meth person, but what the hell.” 

He stands as I sink into my couch further. I never got to my cat’s ears, but she hates getting them cleaned anyway, so I get to save the skin on my arms for another night. “It’s in a coffee can under the sink, impossible to miss.”

“Uh… Darya?” 

“What?”

“Your friend’s here.”

I stand hurriedly and rush to the kitchen, about ten feet away from my living room. I see her. He sees her. She’s in the corner where my two counters meet, floating like before. “Shit.”

“I don’t know what’s in the cocaine you make, but this shit is not normal.”

I step forward cautiously. I’m shaking, I’d probably piss myself if my bladder was full. “Hi…” I start. 

She does nothing. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, scream, anything. “What are you doing here?” 

Her eyes had been off center before, staring off into the distance. Now, they snap to look directly into mine. I jump, the hair on my arms standing right up. As she makes eye contact, I hear disembodied whispers. They sound like they’re coming from multiple people, but as far as I know, it’s just the three of us here. The whispers get louder, until they culminate into one single word: “Revenge.” 

I look back at Trevor. He definitely did piss himself, frozen in his spot. I look back. “For w-what?”

The lights in my house completely black out. It feels like eternity, but it is only about three seconds total. When they return, the spirit is gone. What she left behind makes me scream. On my cabinet in front of me, in what is most likely blood again, is written, “JOCK”. 

Fuck. 

+++

I honestly hate Vinewood, and I only bother to pop in when I have deliveries to make. I’d say about 95% of the dealers I supply my cocaine to are based in Blaine County, so I only have to make this three hour drive maybe twice a month.The plus side is that the Ground & Pound Cafe on the road back to the Great Ocean Highway brought back their pumpkin lattes recently, so I’m able to grab one before starting the trek home. 

I like to drive quietly, mostly. I don’t bother with the vacuous shit on the radio, and my iFruit only has one album on it that gets boring after a while. I look forward to getting home and cuddling with my cat.

Halfway down the highway, about an hour from my house, my radio clicks on. I don’t think much of it, just frown and turn it off. It clicks on again, and scans channels until it lands on Rebel Radio. “-ck Cranley, for Governor of San Andreas.” 

“What the fuck,” I mumble, and pound on my dashboard before turning it back off. In the odd event I would elect to listen to music while I drive, it definitely wouldn’t be country. I’m more of a rap type of woman. 

Crossing the bridge into Blaine County, it happens again. This time, it zaps immediately to Blaine County Talk Radio. When I try to turn it off, it doesn’t work. This car is barely a year old, I can’t believe it’s already malfunctioning somehow. 

“He’s rising up the ranks of politics in San Andreas by giving us policies we all can understand. Now if we have anything to do with it, he’s gonna be our next governor! Please welcome the one, the only, Jock Cranley!” 

“Hello! Bless your heart, Bobby June!” 

I inadvertently slam on my breaks. A few people swerve around me, flipping me off as they speed away. My hands are shaking as I turn up the channel and listen. 

“Jock, get yourself in my kitchen! Bless your heart, Jock!” 

I pick up my phone and find T’s contact. It rings three times before he picks up. “Do I get my quickie now?”

“Jock Cranley.”

“I don’t want that piece of shit to blow me,” he replies. 

“JOCK CRANLEY, TREVOR.”

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?”

“BECAUSE A GHOST BROKE INTO MY HOUSE AND WROTE THAT NAME ON MY CABINET IN BLOOD.”

He sighs roughly on the other end, the sound of gunshots in the background as I listen more closely. “Now’s not a good time to play Blue’s Clues, alright?”

“Trevor, you’re the only person who believes me,” I say.

“Out of the two total people you’ve told about this.” He pauses a beat, then sighs once more, sounding more irritated than anything else. “Fine, fuck. I’ll have Franklin find everything he can on Jock Cranley, okay? Be by your place tomorrow sometime.”

I breathe out in relief, my nerves calming only a little. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says. “And you can suck me off once we send her to the shadow realm.”

“Goodnight, Trevor,” I replied disdainfully. 

I try again to turn the radio off, and it works this time. It takes a few minutes before traffic lightens up enough for me to pull back out onto the road. I don’t know if this means anything, or if it’s all just a weird string of coincidences laced together through my delirium of not taking care of myself. I don’t care right now. If horror movies have taught me anything, it’s that I need to help this person or she’s never going to leave me alone. 

I’ve felt her presence all day, and I feel her over my shoulder now, even though my car doesn’t have a back seat. Her negative energy, the anxiety and suffocating aura she brings every time I see her. Whatever Jock did, if that’s even the Jock she’s talking about, it must have been awful. I intend on finding out, with Trevor’s help or alone. I need answers.


	3. Radio/Video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They take me away from the strangest places._

“You hate me when I clean your ears, yet you also hate me if you get an infection and it hurts,” I grumble at my kitty, who is currently biting my left wrist as it holds her head gently. “Pipe the fuck down.”

She meows sourly as I attempt to rub the cleaning solution into her ear canal. This and the eye maintenance is the worst part of owning a Sphynx. I’d probably be happier if I believed in de-clawing cats, but that shit is just mean. My phone rings, so I chuck the bottle to the side and kiss her on the head, earning a glare as she skitters away. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Shortcake,” Trevor’s voice says. 

“Hi,” I say. “Have anything for me that doesn’t involve an erection?”

“You sure do know how to suck the joy out of life, don’t you?” he says. “I do. Franklin really delivered, is it cool if I bring him?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I took the day off, come over whenever.” 

We hang up, and I meander into my bedroom. I guess I should at least put pants on if I’m going to have company over. I still feel the negative energy all around me. As hard as I’m trying to ignore it, it’s really starting to drain the life force out of me. 

I decide to just put on some black leggings with my gray LS Pounders hoodie. My highlighted hair gets thrown into a messy bun at the top of my head, and I spritz some body spray to not appear totally off putting. I also pick up stray clothes from the floor and shove them in the hall closet before I hear the knock on my door. My cat tries to escape every chance she gets, so she crowds the door as I approach to open it. 

“Not today, tater tot,” I say, picking her up and kissing her before opening the door. “Hello, come in.” 

They step inside, Trevor nodding in acknowledgment as he steps past me. His friend follows, someone I’ve only met once in passing. “Shit,” he says. “The fuck is that thing, an alien?!”

I glare. “She’s a cat and you’re hurting her feelings. Take a seat. I was going to offer you coffee, but I don’t give coffee to people who insult my baby.”

“I’m sorry dawg, shit,” he says. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before. I thought it was some kind of Blaine County Hills Have Eyes bullshit.”

Trevor leads Franklin into the living room, me trailing behind. I curl up in the corner of my L-shaped couch while the two men sit on either side of me. “Aight,” Franklin begins, opening a folder he brought with him. “Jock Cranley. Twisted motherfucker, one of them actors turned Republican politicians who don’t actually know shit about shit. He was in shit like The Mainframe, where his character got off on beatin’ little black kids in the street. Stunt man more than anything else.”

“A little before my time,” I say. “Shit I remember my mom watching when I was a kid.”

“For real, I tried watchin’ some clips online, I couldn’t get past the first minute,” Franklin says. “Anyway, now this fucker is runnin’ for governor of San Andreas, crazy bullshit man. Typical Republican bullshit: hates taxes, business regulations, immigrants, gays. Fans call him the ‘family values candidate’ even though he on his third fuckin’ family now. On the record said he wants to cut the education budget by like 98% to get rid of taxes. Fucked in the head, dude. Admitted to checkin’ out his 16-year-old daughter’s friends when they over at his place.”

I shiver a bit, an uneasy feeling waving through me. “That is fucking creepy, dude,” I say. 

“I knew I hated that ass licker for a reason,” Trevor sneers, shifting his position to lean forward. “Go on.”

“Aight man, this one I’m fuckin’ proud of,” Frank continues. “I asked Micha-“

“DON’T bring that FAT FUCK into this, Frank, or I’ll rip your ass out and eat it in front of you,” Trevor says, standing in his sudden outburst. 

Franklin’s hands shoot up defensively as he retreats backward into my couch a bit. “Aight, I got it, you two in another fuckin’ bickering war. Regardless, he got all these archived newspaper clippings from old school Vinewood shit, mostly movies. Jock being a TV star, he kept one thing.”

He takes a laminated newspaper out of the folder and hands it to me. My hands are free now, Donut having burrowed into my hoodie pocket for warmth. 

I examine the paper first, an article in the Senora Beach paper from 1978. It’s well preserved. “Either hurry or read it to us,” Trevor barks. 

I roll my eyes, then begin. 

_”Tragedy At Cliffs_

_A young husband was made a widower yesterday in an incident at the cliffs of eastern Blaine County. John “Jock” Cranley, 26 and his wife, Jolene Cranley-Evans, 22, were walking by the cliffs overlooking the El Gordo Lighthouse when a dispute ended in Mrs. Cranley-Evans falling to her death._

_Mr. Cranley and his wife, both of Sandy Shores, had been known to be having troubles in their marriage. Mr. Cranley apparently wanted to leave Blaine County and move down to Los Santos to pursue dreams of becoming a stuntman, while his wife was keen to stay to help look after her ailing parents and run their thriving guest house. Mr. Cranley told reporters outside the police station where he had been released without charge, ‘I’m heartbroken. I loved my wife. I would never throw her off a cliff, despite her desire to destroy my dreams of success and happiness. I will miss her always and dedicate my career to her memory.’_

_His wife’s father, Jeb Evans, called for police to open a proper investigation. We will stay with the story.”_

I look up at both of them. Trevor is frowning, glaring almost into the floor, while Franklin shakes his head. “Crazy ass white people shit, man.” 

“Did you ask the fat fuck if they ever followed up on the story?” I ask. 

“Yeah, they ruled it a suicide,” he says. “Ain’t no witnesses on the mountain to comment, but a few unfortunate fools on the beach said he screamed and cried when she fell.”

“Fuck,” I whisper. “What a way to go.” 

“To make a long fuckin’ story short, this guy is a piece of shit,” Franklin concludes. “Now can I ask why the fuck you wanted all this intel on this douche?”

I look at Trevor. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Of course I didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t have done it,” he says. 

“Y’all ain’t tryna assassinate the dude, are you?” he asks. “Cause I ain’t bout to be an accessory to that shit.”

I chuckle, and hand the article back over to him. “No, can’t say we are. Not a bad idea, though.”

“Suspend disbelief for a few seconds, Frank,” Trevor says. “There’s a ghost who lives on Mount Gordo who’s been following Darya around, and she left the word JOCK on the rocks and in Dar’s kitchen.”

“The most logical Jock we could go with is Jock Cranley, which is why we needed the info. You don’t need to hang around if you’re scared of ghosts, you’ve done well above and beyond the call of duty as it is.” 

He scoffs, chuckling as he shakes his head. “Can’t be scared of somethin’ you don’t believe in, dawg.” 

“I’d kill myself if I were married to him too, shit,” Trevor says. 

“Okay,” I sigh. Donut’s little head is poking out the side of my pocket, so I start to pet it gently. “Let’s assume for two minutes that this spirit haunting us is Jolene. We don’t know for sure, we don’t even know if Jock Cranley is the Jock in this situation. If this is Jolene, what does she want from us?” 

“She wants us to know she was married to Jock,” Trevor says. “And she wants revenge. Fucker probably cheated on her, tossed her around a little. Made her feel worthless, drove her to suicide.” 

“NO.” 

A chill gets sent down my spine. My arms erupt in goosebumps, the hairs standing straight up in the air. Donut tries to burrow down into my stomach at first, but when I touch her, she fights her way out of my hoodie and runs into the other room. “Darya?” Franklin asks. “You good?” 

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Trevor says. He looks a lot like I feel— frazzled, off-put, alarmed. 

“Nah, y’all freakin’ me the fuck out,” Franklin says. 

I look up, toward the direction of the sound. I see the ghost again, floating in front of my TV. The TV is on, tuned to a channel my cable company doesn’t provide with dead air. I stand instantly, terror completely encompassing me. Trevor retreats into the couch as far as he can from her, and Franklin just looks confused. “J-Jolene?”

Her head moves down, then up again, as if she’s nodding subtly. Her dead, bright white eyes are boring into my brown eyes, freezing me in my place. “COME.”

“She’s talking through the fucking TV,” Trevor says. 

I nod a little. “No offense, Mrs. Cranley-Evans, but I’m really fucking scared of you. I’m not moving over there.” 

A few tense, quiet seconds pass, before she disappears. I almost breathe out a sigh in relief, until she appears in a flash right in front of me. I scream, trying to step back from her. I don’t make it far before she reaches her arms up and makes contact with my face. Her mouth opens wider, and before I know what’s happening, I’m blacking out all over again.

_It’s a beautiful view. The ocean is absolutely gorgeous as it shines through the horizon. The breeze chills my skin as it caresses me, the scent of salt water and fresh flowers in the distance welcoming me. Birds hop happily around my feet, which are dressed in sturdy, new hiking boots. I feel peaceful, at ease. It’s a serene experience, which turns icy in an instant. Strong hands touch my shoulders, gripping them at first. I turn to look at the owner of the hands, but they quickly jerk me forward and lunge me into the empty space below. Trees rush past me, the echoing sound of my scream is haunting as I approach the rocky landing too quickly. I see people pointing from the beach, their bloodcurdling cries for help the last thing I hear before-_

“Come on, Shortcake.” 

I feel hands on my shoulders, a weight straddling my hips, and a sandpaper tongue licking my forehead. “Should I call 911?”

“You’ll send her to prison if they find her coke stash.” A hand gently slaps my left cheek repeatedly. “Wake up, damn it. Don’t make me have to mouth to mouth you.” 

“In your fucking dreams,” I say, my eyes peeling open. My head is pounding as I see Trevor straddling me, Franklin standing behind him, and Donut standing over my head. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Franklin says. “You stood up, talked to someone who isn’t here, then you hit the fuckin’ ground. That’s some brain tumor shit, man.” 

Trevor moves to get off me, but remains at my level. His hand brushes my loose bangs out of my eyes. “You’re freezing,” he says. “Are you okay?” 

I nod. I sit up with his assistance, then get hoisted up to the couch by the pair of them. “I’m not so sure that Jolene committed suicide.” 

Franklin frowns, sitting to my left. My cat has taken a liking to him, despite his protests, and settles on his lap. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. My nails are digging into my knees. The amount of anxiety boiling up in my gut is maddening. “I know nothing about her. It just feels wrong to believe she did that, at least without trying to find out the truth.” 

Franklin’s phone chimes. He looks uncomfortable as he looks up at Trevor. “Shit, dawg. I gotta bounce. Lamar comin’ up with some crazy shit I probably gotta bail his ass out of. You good?”

“We’re fine, run along to your homeboy,” Trevor replies.

Franklin rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. “Not fuckin’ cool, man. Darya, get that tumor checked out, aight?”

I chuckle. “Yeah. Thanks for everything, Franklin.”

“No problem, man. Lemme know if you need anythin’ else.” 

He takes the newspaper clipping with him when he goes. Trevor remains sitting next to me. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell,” I say. I reach over to touch my cat. She hisses and retreats, backing away slowly into the back of the couch. I frown. “The fuck is your problem?” 

I look behind me, there’s nothing spooky for once. I try to pick her up; she bites my hand, then scurries away. “Ow! You little cunt!” 

I sink back into the couch, feeling defeated. My anxiety is through the roof, as if the ceiling could collapse on me at any moment. Trevor takes my hand. I let him, not having the energy to care. “You’re wearing a jacket, but your hands are freezing,” he says. “Are you okay? Have you eaten today?” 

I take a second to collect my thoughts, then shake my head. “Three cups of iced coffee and some gum.” 

“You know, anorexia stops being cute in high school.” 

I snort. “Fuck you. I don’t have an appetite when I get terrorized by a ghost for a couple days straight, excuse the fuck out of me.”

“Well, maybe that’s why all this crazy shit is happening to you. Maybe you’re imagining it. I mean fuck, you’re on drugs, hardly eat, barely sleep by the look of the bags under your eyes constantly. I do meth, I see and hear things that aren’t there. Maybe this is all just fucking crazy talk.” 

I chuckle, more disappointedly than anything. “Believe what you want. I know what I’ve seen and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make her go.” 

“I’d suggest therapy.” 

I roll my eyes. After a few silent minutes, I say, “Do you know what its like to feel helpless, Trev? Truly helpless, like no one sees or hears you even when you’re standing right in front of them?”

“Yeah, did you miss the whole abandoned in a shopping mall when I was a kid thing?” 

I shake my head. “No. I know that happened, and that’s awful. But you were safe in your bed later that night, you had strangers help you call your mom. I was left on the streets for a year. I had to sell my body to get enough money to start the businesses I have now. I was a homeless rat on the street until my best friend finally found me. She feels exactly how I felt, and you can back down from helping her all you want, but I couldn’t live with myself if I let her continue to feel how I used to.” 

“She’s dead, Darya,” he says. “She doesn’t feel anymore. She hasn’t been thought of in 40 years.” 

“She obviously does, or she wouldn’t be stuck on that mountain.” 

He sighs roughly. I didn’t notice he still has my hand until his thumb starts stroking it subtly. “I can tell this is important to you. But you can’t let it be the only thing you care about. You can’t help her if you kill yourself first.” 

“Now you sound like my mom,” I say. I turn to look at him, taking in the details of his face. The scars that mar his aging complexion, the permanent scowl on his forehead. “I know you have more important things to do. I really do appreciate you being here and helping.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. 

I stare at his face a little longer. His lips are fairly chapped, but full. His eyes, though constantly hidden under an angry brow, are gentle. They sparkle in the sunlight filtering in through my window. Before I can catch myself, I find my lips against his. He makes a noise, one of surprise undoubtedly, before he starts kissing me back. I always do this shit when I feel vulnerable, just throw myself at the closest target. 

He moves to pin me back slightly, starting to advance like he wants to get on top of me. Before he gets too far, he darts off of me in a panic. “FUCK!”

I frown. “What is it?!”

He catches his breath, having been startled by something. He frowns at me. “I don’t know. I felt... strange. Like I was falling. Like when you’re half asleep in bed and your brain makes you dream you’re tripping, or something.” 

“Weird,” I say. 

“Look, I should go,” he says, nervously stuttering his words as if he’d been possessed by his paranoid neighbor friend. “See you Wednesday? DinD makeup?”

I nod, still frowning slightly as I take in the sight of the slightly panicked man. “Yeah. See you then.” 

He walks briskly to the front door, practically slamming it behind him. As I return to my couch after locking it, I catch a glimpse of my cat in the hallway. She’s hiding behind the decorative table I have next to my bathroom, hissing at me as I pass. I crash down on my couch and curl up to myself. My cat is afraid of me, Trevor left after finally starting to get the sexual attention from me he’s been asking for, and I feel the most lonely I’ve ever felt in my life. I can only imagine how Jolene felt, before throwing herself off a cliff. If her piece of shit husband is to be believed, and she is the one who ended her life, I can’t help but feel that she made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried so hard to make Franklin’s dialogue consistent with the script in the game without trying to sound like I’m stereotyping him. If it comes off as offensive, I’m sorry.


	4. Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dreams are made winding through her hair. ___

_“It really is beautiful up here, Jock. Thank you for bringing me.”_

_“You’re welcome, my pet.” My husband is standing a few feet behind me, while I check out the view of the Pacific Ocean from the cliff. “I know I been losing my temper with you lately. I hope you know that I think you’re as beautiful as the sunlight shining on the horizon.”_

_I look back at him and smile. His rich, melodically deep voice always makes everything he says sound so romantic. His is a nice contrast to my brassy, twangy hick accent. “I sure do love you.”_

_I turn my attention back to the ocean, imagining all the little whales and dolphins and fish swimming around in there. I love the ocean, I wish I can visit the beach more often. Ever since my parents’ health started declining, I rarely get time to do the things I love. I hear a hefty sigh behind me. “I just wish you’d reconsider the move. I have the chance to really make something of myself, Jo.”_

_I nod, but continue looking out at the ocean. “I know. I can’t leave my parent though, baby. Business has never been better, and their medical bills are just gonna keep piling up. I told them ever since my sixth grade science experiment that drinking the tap water in Sandy Shores was dangerous, now they’re paying for it.”_

_“That’s unfortunate.”_

_He’s taking his tone again. His pouty, stiff, just short of a temper tantrum tone. I’m honest to God sick of hearing about his stupid acting career. He played Larry in the high school production of Alabama!, big stinking deal. That’s hardly an acting career. “Our family can thrive out here. Vinewood doesn’t understand people like us, they’ll chew us up and spit us out like the cheap tobacco my grandaddy used to use.”_

_“Our family is small, it’s just us two. We’ll find a place in Vinewood.”_

_“No, it’s not,” I say. My hands begin to tremble. Of all the ways I imagined telling him about the baby, I never thought it would come up in yet another argument. I turn to face him. “It’s gonna be three of us in a few months, maybe four if the good Lord has a sense of humor. We need stability. It’s too late, John.”_

_His stare turns into a glare as it pierces into my eyes. “You know I hate being called that.”_

_“I don’t know why,” I reply. “It’s a good Christian name.”_

_“Jock is a Vinewood name. Jock is edgy, masculine, it sets a tone for my career. My career that I’m not giving up on just because you don’t believe in me.”_

_“Jock was what the kids called you in high school because you always smelled like a ballsack,” I bitterly retort. I don’t care about being polite no more, not when he treats my child like a burden from the second he finds out about them. “Grow up.”_

_I can tell I struck a nerve. He’d be breathing fire if he were a dragon right now. “Better than— what was it they called you? Backdoor Evans? Doesn’t count as losing your virginity if it’s in the wrong hole, does it?”_

_“Fuck you,” I sneer. “Go to Vinewood if you think you stand a chance there. Get a minor part in a TV show that gets killed off in two episodes, and when that shithole of a town throws you out like the worthless piece of trash you are, you can join the rest of them ‘actors’ living under the freeway, dreaming of making it while getting pissed on by their neighbor.”_

_I turn back around and step toward the edge of the cliff, trying to calm myself down. I know it’s unbecoming of me to stoop to his level, but he riles me up so bad sometimes. I try to focus on my surroundings, yearning for the happiness I felt not even five minutes ago._

_I feel Jock’s strong hands on my shoulders. At least they’re not around my neck. “I’m sorry,” he says._

_I sigh a bit. “I’m sorry, too. I just can’t leave my parents, Jock. I could never live with myself if I abandoned them, especially when they’ve been begging for a grandbaby since I was 14.”_

_He nods, his hands squeezing me a little tighter. “I understand.”_

_I smile to myself. I think the news about the baby calmed him down, he usually broods for hours after our arguments end. I start to turn my head to look at him, maybe give him a kiss, but before I can even see his face—_

Sweat envelops my entire body as I gasp myself awake, my upper half wrenching itself up as I try to get air into my lungs. I frantically reach over to my nightstand to turn my light on, grabbing my glasses in the process. I look around my room, making sure I’m alone. Jolene isn’t lurking, and unfortunately, neither is my cat. She usually sleeps in the crook my body makes when I curl up on my side. Now, it’s as if I’m a stranger. 

I pick up my iFruit and call my best friend. The clock on the top of the screen says 3:18 AM, maybe an hour after I finally fell asleep. “Dar?” Her voice is raspy, I’m sure I wrenched her out of a deep sleep. “What’s going on?” 

I don’t realize I started crying until I try to speak. “Beth, I think I’m really starting to fucking lose it.”

“Are you suicidal again?” 

I sniff, my free left hand wiping the fluid off my face sloppily. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I haven’t slept since we hiked the mountain, I keep having the same nightmare over and over again. I know you don’t believe it’s haunted, but-“

“Fuck, Dar,” she says. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She sighs a bit, or maybe she yawns. Regardless, she probably hates me now. “Give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right over. You better be on your therapist’s website scheduling an appointment by the time I get there.”

“Yes, mom,” I say, and hang up the phone. 

I hate my therapist. I only see her once a month, something I was forced into by my mom when she found out my chronic laziness and meaningless worrying growing up were actual mental disorders. Even from 7,000 miles away, her powers of persuasion are overbearing when she wants them to be. Well, I hate the ritual of going to see my therapist. She’s pretty cool as a person. I once told her I hoped I got hit by a Pepsi truck on the way home, and her response was to ask why I chose Pepsi, instead of eCola or a mail truck. 

It’s super convenient that she does online scheduling, so when Bethany lets herself into my house, I’m able to show her that I snagged one of her Friday appointment slots. “Good, you do listen sometimes,” she says. “Whoa.”

I frown at her. “What?”

As she sits down and makes eye contact with me, she says, “You look scary. Like, went on another week long coke bender scary.”

“Okay, you’re no angel,” I say. “I went on a coke bender once. You took Adderall every day from sophomore to senior year in college, and you don’t even have ADHD. Not to mention the moonshine smuggling business you had on the side.”

“I never said I was perfect,” she replies. “Stop lashing out at me, this is about you. What is going on with you lately?” 

“I don’t know, dude,” I say, exhaling loudly, holding back a whine. 

Her arm snakes around my shoulders, which makes her frown at me. “Holy shit, you’re freezing!” 

“I am?” I say. “I don’t feel cold.”

She tries to generate friction against my skin with her hands. “Yes, you’re ice cold. No wonder you look pale and dead in the face, you’re probably sick.” 

“I feel fine, I’m just not sleeping well,” I say. “On Tuesday, I had this weird vision where I was falling off a cliff, and that night I kept seeing it when I fell asleep. Same thing tonight.” 

“Fuck,” she says. “I never should have dragged you up that mountain with me, I’m sorry.” 

I shrug. “You’re not responsible for the mess that is my sanity. I’m sorry for dragging you out of bed thinking you are.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I mean, my Life Invader page is up to 13 whole stalkers now, so I really don’t have anyone besides you. Not that I mind, you’re the best friend I ever could have asked for.”

I snort. “I used to be. Now, I’m just pathetic.”

“Okay, stop,” she says. “You’re going through something right now, it’s okay to be down sometimes. Doesn’t make you a lesser person.” 

“Thanks,” I say, smiling a tiny bit at her. 

She pets my hair briefly, then says, “Your hair feels like Professor Snape’s looks. When’s the last time you showered?” 

I laugh a bit. “It’s been a few days.”

“Go shower,” she says. “Warm up, take care of yourself. Where’s my godkitty?”

“Fuck if I know, dude,” I say. “She’s hated me the past few days. Hisses at me, won’t come near me.” 

“Jesus,” she says. “I’ll find her, give her some human contact.”

I’ve neglected my cocaine plant and arms bunker the past few days, not having the energy to leave my house. I’ve had no reason to shower. I walk into my bathroom and turn on the light. What I see in the mirror startles me. She’s right, I look dead. My skin is pale, my eyes have huge bags underneath them that almost look bruised. What’s weirder is that my hair almost looks like it’s turning darker. It’s usually pretty blonde looking with all the highlights I put in haphazardly every few weeks. Now, it’s like random patches of black are infiltrating it. “I must be fucking gross if it’s that grimy, fuck,” I say to my reflection. 

Even with all my clothes off of my fully tattooed body, I don’t feel cold. I touch my face a few different places, and it feels normal. I don’t know what Jolene did to me, and maybe I shouldn’t want to know. If it’s affecting me this badly, I need to stop trying to help. 

The hot water on my skin makes it tingle weirdly, like when you jump between a cold swimming pool and a hot tub while on vacation as a kid. It makes me feel even more uneasy in my own home. I spend my time looking around, waiting to see Jolene again. I haven’t encountered her since the other day, oddly enough. I feel her presence in my house, the negative energy that’s sucking the life out of everything. Or maybe I truly am just going insane. I wash my hair quickly, skipping my conditioner and face wash entirely. I’m so fucking tired, I could cry. 

Bethany is passed out on my bed when I return to my room in a towel. I chuckle, happy she at least can fall back asleep. I put on fresh pajamas in my closet, grab my iFruit and pack of Redwoods, and walk out to my porch. Lighting up a cigarette floods me with a minute amount of comfort as I scroll through my contacts to find a number. The line rings three times before I’m greeted with, “Never pegged you as a night owl, considering how many 7 am Ground & Pound transactions are on your account.” 

“I told you to stay out of my bank account, Lester,” I say. 

“You tell me a lot of things,” he replies. “Calling for a late night chat, or do you need something as always?” 

I snort derisively at his remark. “You stole my topless pics out of my cloud and sent them to Trevor of all people. Sorry you’re not the first person I’d call just to chat.” 

“He had money.”

“Yeah, well, so do I,” I say. “I need you to find everything you can on two people for me. Name your price.” 

“$10,000 for both. Usually charge $8,000 per one profile, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“Stay. Out. Of my. Bank account.” I say. “I don’t need your charity.”

“You’re taking in 80% of what you normally make during 3rd quarter, it isn’t charity. Consider it a corporate tax cut.” 

I groan. “Why do you know that? I hate that you know that. I haven’t felt like making cocaine drops lately, but I’m fine. I could not work for ten years and still be fine.”

He laughs a bit. “I know. Regardless, $10,000. What do you want specifically, and for whom?”

“Jock Cranley and Jolene Cranley-Evans. Literally anything you can find, especially about Jock. If he so much as sneezed too hard in third grade, I want to know about it.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say. I take another cigarette out of the pack and light it with the dying butt of the first one. “I’m not planning on assassinating him. Let’s just say I want to make an educated decision about who I’m voting for this November.” 

“Can’t blame you for that,” he says. “That’ll make at least one person in this God forsaken wasteland. When are you expecting this?”

“As soon as possible,” I say. “The sooner the better. I’ll pay extra if you need me to.”

“Not necessary,” he says. “Stop by tonight, say 9. Bring cash. I’ll have it ready.” 

I exhale the deep drag I had taken moments before and say, “Done. Thank you. See you tonight.” 

I finish my cigarette, then walk back inside. My hair is dry enough to be tolerable against my pillow, so I try to go back to sleep. The last thing I recall before dozing off into a fitful sleep is Donut hissing, then dashing off of Bethany’s lap. 

+

“You know I have asthma, right?”

I look up at the camera pointed at me, the first line of Lester’s intricate security system on his house. I look down at my cigarette, take one last drag, and snuff it out. The door buzzes, and I’m able to let myself in. I walk through the caged entryway, past the comics, collectibles, and dirty clothes on the floor, and find him in his bedroom. He has his huge computer and server setup covering one of the walls. He chooses to sit in his wheelchair today. “Darya Malkasian.”

“Lester Crest,” I reply, my tone reflecting my short mood. “I’m missing my DinD makeup session for this, can I offer you an envelope full of cash?” 

“Of course.”

I reach into the tote bag I use as a purse and pull out the larger manilla envelope that his wad of cash is in. He takes it out and runs it through his cash counting machine, which makes me roll my eyes. I’ve been doing business with him for years, I should be trustworthy. “Ten grand exactly, take a seat.”

I sit at his discarded computer chair, rolling it to sit closer to him. He looks tired. His eyes droop behind his wire glasses, as mine are. He seems to have less of the wirey red hair than he had last time I saw him. “You look like shit.”

“You’re one to talk,” he says. “Have any blood left in your cocaine stream?”

I roll my eyes. “I haven’t bumped in like a week, why is that all anyone ever mentions about me?”

“68% of your income is from cocaine sales, not my fault you made it your brand.”

“Okay,” I say. “Enough about my finances. What do you have for me?” 

He opens a folder and takes out a stack of papers. “Jolene Cranley-Evans. Born April 23rd, 1956 to Marie and Jebediah Evans. Died on May 4th, 1978 at the age of 22, apparent suicide. Graduated from Blaine County High School with honors, studied marine biology with a minor in religious studies at University of San Andreas, Blaine County. Didn’t finish her degree, dropped out around the time her father was first admitted to the hospital due to liver sclerosis. It was rumored that she’s the Jolene that Dolly Parton wrote that song about.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?”

“No,” he says. “I’ve just had that damn song stuck in my head since our conversation this morning. Here’s a picture of her, taken out of her obituary that I found on the Sonora Beach’s archives.” 

I accept the paper with her image printed on it, cropped out from the newspaper PDF on their website. I’m sure her parents chose the photo, seeing as how she’s alone in it. I have no doubt that Jock would have chosen one heavily featuring himself. Regardless, she was gorgeous. She’s obviously laughing in the picture, her wide, natural smile absolutely contagious. She had long black hair, slightly wavy as it flowed past her shoulders. I can’t tell what color her eyes were, since the paper printed black and white, but even against the grainy harshness of the paper, they sparkle. She’s holding a puppy in the picture, a baby chow by the looks of it. “You okay, kid?” 

I snap out of the trance the picture put me in and notice that tears had started streaming down my face. I feel so fucking sad for the person in this picture. She’s so young, full of life, absolutely beaming. I also feel an odd sense of nostalgia looking at this photo. I remember this being taken. I can see it in my head: the spacious backyard where the puppy was playing, the sound of a neighbor’s chickens clucking in the distance. It feels so real. “Yeah.” I brush the hair out of my face before wiping my eyes. “What about Jock?” 

“There’s more on Jolene, I’ll let you read it in your spare time,” he says. “Jock Cranley. Football star at Blaine County High School, was a senior when Jolene was a freshman. Decent grades, did some theater as well as sports. Stayed out of trouble for the most part. He and Jolene got married on September fifth, 1975. No records of mental health appointments for Jolene, no idea what drove her to suicide. Interestingly, when she died, Jock went on a public tirade about suicide prevention and mental health awareness, said he donated all this money to foundations supporting the cause, yet there’s no record of that anywhere. Even looking at his spending habits at the time, nothing went to charity until he started running for office recently. Even then, it was a charity for white people who don’t qualify for scholarships under affirmative action.” 

“Fucking scumbag,” I snap. 

He nods, shuffling some papers. He selects the one he was looking for, then hands it to me. “I did find something that might hit a little close to home for you.” 

I take the page and look over its contents. It’s a photo of who I’m assuming is Jock, with the governor of San Andreas from ten years ago. They’re shaking hands, as Jock hands him a piece of paper. It’s a pledge, $1,000,000 to aid in the big raid on undocumented immigrants. This was the same raid that sent my parents back to Armenia. They took advantage of them being in legal limbo waiting for their visas to be renewed, and they deported them. My hands are shaking as I stare at the man on the page. “I could fucking murder him,” I say. _Then do it._ “Huh?”

“Huh?” he replies.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, eying me suspiciously. 

_Murder the asshole._ I frown, looking around his room. We’re the only two in here, Jolene didn’t follow me. “He helped them take my parents from me.”

He nods. “Yeah. And he was on some talk radio show last week, he doesn’t just hate undocumented immigrants. He hates all immigrants. He hates all citizens who look like immigrants. You’re an ethnic bisexual woman, you’re pretty much his enemy.” 

“I’d be his enemy if I were a white man, considering the damage this fucker has done,” I reply bitterly. 

“The rest is pretty typical. Invests heavily in oil, firearm lobbies, member of the Coalition Against Fetus Murder, even has connections to that pseudo-cult, Epsilon.”

“Of course he does,” I say. “Tax evasion? The government can turn a blind eye to how he treated his wife all they want, but I know they take that shit personally.”

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. Nothing that could get him on a technicality. Anyway, this is for you. Take it home, read it, burn it when you’re done. Honestly, can I ask why you wanted this?” 

“I’m pretty sure Jolene’s death wasn’t a suicide,” I say. “I know it’s crazy, I know no one has thought of her in decades, but it’s important to me to find out for sure. Thank you for your help.”

“The pleasure, as always, was all mine,” he says. “Keep in touch, but if you get arrested for murdering a politician, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

I roll my eyes, but smirk at him a little. “Goodnight, Lester.”

I don’t know what to make of my visit with Lester. I’m grateful for the information, but I now have such a deep-seated hatred in my gut that I have never felt before in my life. I’m absolutely seething. I’m mad about my parents all over again, I’m mad about how he treated his wife, how he lied about donating to an actual worthwhile cause. This guy is a fucking psychopath, and he’s probably going to win the election because he’s a goddamn celebrity. 

As soon as I make it home, I become exorbitantly tired. I had a coffee about three hours ago, I must be crashing. I barely make it to my room before I’m collapsing on top of my bed. I slip into a deep sleep easily. 

_It’s a familiar scene. The cliff, the ocean, a gentle breeze on a sunny morning. Birds, grass, flowers. As pretty as it is, I wish my brain would let it go._

_For once, I’m not arguing with anyone. I’m not falling, I’m not doing anything but sitting on a rock, enjoying the scenery. I watch a bee fly by, dazzled by the way its tiny wings carry its body through the air. I feel peaceful._

_Footsteps can be heard behind me. They get closer, the sound of boots crunching against loose gravel and dirt, until they stop right behind me. I pry my gaze away from the pigeon that’s tearing apart a worm and turn to look. I see a woman. Young, tall, long black hair with sparkling green eyes. Her white t-shirt is tucked into her khaki shorts, new hiking shoes adorning her feet. “Hello, Darya.”_

_I stand instantly. She’s about 6 inches taller than I am, I have to look up to make eye contact with her. “Hi, Jolene.”_

_She stares into my eyes, her gaze piercing my core as I wait for her to say something, literally anything. I’m not sure why I feel so calm. Finally, she looks down at her shoes. Her eyes glisten, possibly with impending tears. She makes meek eye contact with me once again and says, “I need you to do something for me.”_


	5. Highway Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Our days are never coming back._

_I stare into the desperate gaze in front of me. I don’t know what to say, how to respond to something so fucking crazy. Finally, I take a deep breath and repeat what she said to me moments ago. “You want me to kill Jock Cranley.”_

_She nods. “Yes.”_

_“You want me to assassinate a politician.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You want me to go to prison for the rest of my life for murdering your husband.”_

_She shrugs. “You have some mighty smart friends who’ve gotten away with worse. I’d say the incarceration part is optional.”_

_I sigh, taking a seat on the rock again. I push my hair out of my face. “Am I dreaming?”_

_“Yes, and no,” she says. “The only way I can communicate to you like this is when you’re sleeping. It was taking too much of my energy to pop up in your house, so I decided to camp out in your body for a bit. Much easier.”_

_“Wait,” I say. “You possessed me?!”_

_She nods. “Yeah. I mean ‘possessed’ sounds a little freakier than I’m comfortable with, but yes. You said you were afraid of me, and I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine my body is too pretty after falling off a mountain.”_

_“Can you like, get out of me?”_

_She chuckles softly. “When Jock is dead, I can. I tried to go, Darya. I’ve been stuck on that mountain for 40 years now, I want to be in Heaven. Hell, I’d even take Hell at this point. You know that bull squirt about ghosts and unfinished business? Apparently it’s all true, and Jock being alive is mine.”_

_“Fuck,” I reply. “Okay. Question, though. Why can only Trevor and I see you?”_

_She walks around the boulder and sits next to me. “I spent 40 or so years trying to get everyone’s attention. People ran as soon as they saw me, assumed I was an axe murdered or knew I wasn’t alive. Ghosts use energy to manifest, all that fancy ghost stuff is true. What they don’t tell you is that ghosts only get so much before they lose control of it, and become burned into the place they died forever. You know how many people died here, and are stuck here forever? I would have been one of them, no chance of an afterlife. So I had to be smart. I popped up occasionally, enough to see if anyone would notice me and try to help. You were the first person in 40 years to ask me if I was okay. You were kind, you cared, you rushed toward me to help me. That’s how I knew I could spend a little energy on you. Your friends Bethany and Franklin don’t believe in ghosts, projecting to their subconscious was pointless. Trevor is a skeptic, but he was open to the idea and was going to help you regardless because it’s you. I used a lot of energy talking through your television set, so this was my last chance.”_

_“Jesus Christ,” I mumble. I’m way too sober for this._

_“Think of what he did to your parents,” she says._

_I snort. “Uh uh, I’m not going to be manipulated by a hot version of Casper, especially one that hasn’t let me sleep or eat in days.”_

_“Hey, the eating is all you. I’ve spent a lot of time with your thoughts lately, you are one sad little girl. You punish yourself for every little thing that’s gone wrong in your life by neglecting yourself, and it’s going to kill you sooner than you think it will. And don’t try that ‘good, I want it to’ crap with me, because I can see that you don’t want to die. You’re just too damn lazy to make it better.”_

_“I’m not lazy, I’m tired,” I say. “Before this entire shit storm started, I worked 12, 14 hours a day, six days a week. I drive hundreds of miles a week for work, I don’t have time for anything else. Yes, I want my life to get better. I want to find a husband or a wife to settle down and have kids with, and I want to move to a safer city and have a fucking herb garden. I just don’t have the ability to do that right now.”_

_She gives me a look, the dreaded eyebrow raise a mom gives her child she knows is lying. “You absolutely do have the ability to do all that right now, you said yourself you can not work for ten years and be just fine. You need to see your therapist more, or get a better one. You’re 31, take control of your damn life.”_

_I sigh, my head now resting in my hand. “You’re right.”_

_“I know I’m right,” she says._

_I look over at her, making eye contact. “I’ll do it. I don’t want to say it out loud, in dreamland or otherwise, but I’ll help you.”_

_“Thank you,” she says. “If I make it to the good place, I’ll try to repay you any way I can.”_

_I chuckle a bit. “Yeah, thanks. If you can’t leave my body until he’s gone, can you at least let me sleep more than 3 hours?”_

_“Yes,” she says. “I’m real sorry for that, I didn’t know how else to get the message across without spelling it out for you. You’re a sweet lady, but you’re real slow sometimes.”_

_I laugh a bit, looking down at my feet. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”_

_“I’ll let you be from now on,” she says. “But I can’t leave until he’s gone, I need you to understand that.”_

_I nod. “I do. And I’ll do my best, okay? Because as angry as I am about what he did to me and my parents, I’m disgusted at what he did to you, and your child.”_

_“Thank you,” she says. “Good luck.”_

Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock knock knock. POUND POUND POUND. “Fuck,” I say, the sunlight pouring through my curtains hitting me right in the eyes. “HANG ON!” 

I stand out of my bed. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m pretty sure I finally got more than 2 hours of sleep. I fell asleep in my clothes from last night, a black Metallica off-shoulder top with black leggings. I swing my front door open and slump against the frame, seeing Trevor’s tall stance looming above me. “Yes?” 

“Are you okay?” he says instantly. “You didn’t show up last night.”

I’m squinting at him, I’m sure I look great. It’s so fucking bright outside. “Come in.” 

I lead him into my living room and have him sit on the couch. I walk about ten feet into my kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he says. “Are you okay?” 

“I need coffee,” I reply. 

“Darya,” he says, almost yells. “Answer the fucking question.” 

I groan, hoisting myself up to sit on the counter next to the coffee pot. “I’m fine. What time is it?” 

“11:38,” he says. “Did I wake you up?”

I nod, scratching my scalp a bit. I’m not a morning person, that’s for sure. “Yeah. You want coffee?” 

“Nah,” he says. “It’s unlike you to not show up places, or at least call.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I grab my Virgo coffee cup from my mug tree next to my coffee maker, fill it almost to the top with the purest liquid substance known to humankind, and join him on the couch. “I had a meeting with Lester. He pulled some information on Jock and Jolene for me, and now I have to kill Jock.”

His already menacing eyes open a little wider as he looks at me in befuddlement. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

“He murdered her,” I say. “Not only that, but he lied about donating all this money to charity when he actually didn’t, he funded an ICE raid that deported my parents ten years ago, and Jolene’s spirit can’t cross over until he’s dead.” 

He snorts, shakes his head, and says, “You are taking this way too fucking far, kid.” 

“I wish you and your friends would stop calling me ‘kid’,” I snap. “I’m a 31-year-old woman, I pay taxes.”

“That makes one of us,” he says. 

“So it’s pointless to ask for your help again, then? You’re not going to help me?”

“Help you kill a public figure?” he says. He sizes me up and down with his eyes, before rolling them subtly. “Of course I’m going to help you, but I’m not going to fucking like it.”

I smile at him. “You don’t like anything you help me with, but that never stops you.” 

His expression is unreadable most of the time. He looks at me, his eyes seeming to scowl a little bit less. “I’m sorry for the other night,” he says. “For running out after you kissed me.”

“Ah,” I reply, blushing deeply as I take a sip of my coffee. “I’m sorry if that was too forward.” 

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t. It was the weirdest fucking thing. As soon as you made contact with me, I felt like I was being pushed off a cliff or something. Like my stomach was up in my throat, and I was plunging down.”

“Yeah, that was Jolene,” I say. “I’ve been having dreams where that’s happened to me every single night since I saw her.” 

“Wow,” he says. “No wonder you look like shit.”

I chuckle, almost wanting to scoff. “Well, shit. If I’m that bad of a kisser, you don’t need to insult me to keep me from trying again.” 

“No, no no no no,” he says, frantically trying to retrace his steps. “Not what I meant, at all. You’re normally beautiful, alright? You just look overworked, tired, and kind of dead lately.” 

“Coincidentally, I feel overworked, tired, and kind of dead lately,” I reply. 

“We could try again,” he says, avoiding eye contact with me. “If you want.” 

I look over at the self-conscious figure staring at his shoes and smile a little. I set my coffee down on the table in front of my couch and lean over to kiss him on the cheek. He looks over at me, grinning a little. “Maybe when I don’t have coffee breath. Thanks for coming over.” 

He chuckles. “Sorry for waking you up. Weird shit’s been going on with you lately, I wasn’t sure if anything happened.”

After pouring my second cup of coffee, he joins me in the kitchen and asks, “Who do you want to get involved with this plot?” 

“Anyone who can and wants to help,” I say. “I could just walk into his mansion and pop him one up the ass, but I’d spend the rest of my life at Bolingbroke. I’d like to avoid that.”

“Alright,” he says. “Lester, then. If the cocksucker has security at his place, and I’m sure he does, Lester can disarm it. Franklin said no before, but we need a getaway driver and he’s the best there is. I can probably convince him.”

I nod. “You and the fat fuck still in a falling out?” 

He almost growls at the mention of his alcoholic best friend. “It’s complicated.” 

“Well, uncomplicate it,” I reply. “I could use backup, his aim is dead on.” 

“Fine,” he sneers. “You and I on the ground crew?” 

I nod again, inhaling the aroma wafting from my cup. “Best two for the job, I think.”

“Big, burly, manly man to protect you while you distract him with your beauty?”

I snort. “No. I’m faster, quieter, and better at hand-to-hand combat than you, and you’re crazy enough to walk into a bullet shower head first.” 

“That, too,” he says. “I’ll call Frank and Mikey later today.” 

“Thank you,” I reply. “We could get my ex-girlfriend involved.”

“Paige is laying low,” he says. “After our last job, she wants to stay as far away from the grid as possible for now.” 

_You should ask him out._

“Huh?” I say.

He gives me a look, but doesn’t say anything. _Ask him on a little lunch date, ain’t no harm in trying. He’s probably thinking you want to see your ex now, feeling all self-conscious._

**Shush, he doesn’t want to get lunch with me. Not after what you made him feel when I kissed him. Plus, he’s always self-conscious. That’s why he’s so quick to anger.**

“You seem pretty deep in thought,” he says. “Trying to blow me up with your mind?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, you caught me.” 

_If you don’t ask this boy out, I’ll do it for you. You’re starting to turn your life around today, right now._

I sigh softly to myself, turn to look at him, and say, “Do you want to go out to lunch with me?”

He looks surprised. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I do want to go to lunch with you.”

 _See, that wasn’t so hard. Stop selling yourself short. I’d date you if I were into that sort of thing. And, you know, alive._

I try hard not to chuckle out loud at that. **Thank you.** “Let me take a shower, I feel as gross as I look,” I say. 

+

We argue for half an hour at lunch over who’s paying for it. I slam my debit card down on the bill before he can grab cash, which makes him bitterly roll his eyes. “Next time, it’s my turn.”

“Whatever you want,” I smirk, tonguing my straw to tease him before taking a sip of my Dr. Pepper. We had a nice lunch of Mexican food, at a little shack type place between Los Santos and Blaine County. 

“Thank you,” he says. “So, when this is all over, however that happens, do you want to maybe go on like, a date?”

I smile at him, setting my beverage down and taking his hand. “This wasn’t a date?” 

A smile pulls at the side of his mouth, but he doesn’t let it fully form. “I wasn’t sure if that was your intention. I didn’t want to assume, then be wrong, totally embarrass myself, run off into the desert and mow down a pre-school.”

“Well, definitely avoid that,” I say. “But yes, a date in a totally normal circumstance would be nice.” 

I get my card back, leave a tip, then say, “Lester’s?”

He nods. “Yeah. He’s probably balls deep in that video game of his, but it’s worth a shot.” 

We get into his truck, a red, dirty Bhodi. It’s about thirty more minutes to Lester’s house from the restaurant, which we both enjoy in relative silence. I peruse LifeInvader on my iFruit, until his reckless driving starts to make me feel motion sick. We approach Lester’s front door and ring the bell. It takes a few seconds, but the camera makes a noise to indicate it’s moving, focusing on us from the street. “Did we have a meeting?”

“We have one now,” Trevor says. “Stop being a rude fuck and invite us in.”

“Didn’t realize you were vampires,” Lester says, then unlocks his doors for us. 

We walk the familiar path to his bedroom where, sure enough, his first person shooter game is paused. “This better be good.”

“We’re going to kill Jock Cranley,” Trevor says. 

Lester sighs, his eyes closing briefly as he processes the information he was just given. Trevor takes a seat on Lester’s computer chair, then pulls me down to sit on his lap. Finally, Lester looks at us and says, “I’ll get in touch with Franklin, you’re going to need a quick escape and he has the city memorized. Michael has connections, I’ll hack his contacts and see if I can find someone who has Jock’s number. I can track his cell signal and find his house. Are you wanting a direct bullet to the brain approach, or do you want to make it look like his age and lifestyle finally caught up to him?”

I smile at him, then say, “He was the main driving force in my parents getting deported. I would love nothing more than to bash his fucking skull into his rectum.” 

“And they say women are the kinder, gentler sex,” he replies. “Okay. We’ll need a vehicle that can conceal the body while it’s transported to the dumping site. Trevor, that’s your homework. We’re looking for a box truck, a workman’s van, even a hearse if you can find a box big enough for a body.”

Trevor nods. “You got it, Tiny Tim.”

“Trevor, he’s helping us,” I say. 

“Thank you, Darya,” he says. “Your homework is to pick a method to murder him and stick to it, no matter what. Practice on whatever you can. I understand you want revenge, that’s all well and good, but this will all be for nothing if you manage to fling your DNA everywhere. You need to make it look like he disappeared, like his rich, privileged old man delusions finally caught up with him and he wandered off into the sunset. You’ll have to get creative. Blow his brains out if you want, but you’ll have to get them off the wall before you leave.” 

“Got it,” I say. 

“Give me 48-72 hours to find and case his neighborhood. Depending on where he lives and who his neighbors are, I may need to hire a hacker to help disable the entire block’s security systems. I assume you’ll foot the bill for that, Trevor?”

“No,” I say. “It’s my idea, I will. Whatever you need, just give me the invoices when it’s done.” 

“Very well,” he says. “If you wouldn’t mind, I have an online tournament to finish, then I’ll get cracking on the case.” 

I stand and pull Trevor to his feet. “Thank you, Lester. Whatever compensation you want for this is yours, just let me know.”

“That’s unnecessary,” he says. “I admittedly have been wishing ill on the man since I heard his political platform, I feel like I’m doing the world a favor by orchestrating his assassination. Plus, your portfolio is taking a slight nosedive-“ 

“Goodbye, Lester,” I retort. 

We get back into Trevor’s truck. He takes me to his strip club; neither of us are up for another long drive right now. He grabs us some drinks from the bar, then leads me back to his office. 

“Thank you, Trevor,” I say, once I’m sitting on his desk in front of him. “For everything. Even just believing me, and not assuming I’m just crazy or hallucinating.” 

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “To answer your question from before, I do know what it feels like to be invisible to everyone around you. Even if my sorry excuse for a father didn’t abandon me, I’ve felt like that my whole life. Until I met the old crew in North Yankton, I was totally fucking alone. And it does suck, and I understand why you’d want to help someone else stop feeling that way. I know it’s important to you, so I’m fine helping you with it. Business is slow at TPI, anyway. Burn down one inbred family meth lab, and three more pop up in its place.” 

“Heil Hydra,” I reply, taking a sip of my vodka soda. He chuckles a bit. “Rip off the bandage and call Michael, will you? I’ll do all the talking if he shows up.” 

He makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, and pulls out his phone after standing. “Hey, Mikey. I do hate you, that’s besides the point. Yeah. Get your fat ass over to the Vanilla Unicorn, your skill set is required. Can’t say that on the phone. Can’t say that either. Just get here, alright?! Fuck.” 

He hangs up his phone and slams the rest of his beer, chucking the bottle in the trash afterward. He breathes heavy, obviously flustered. “Hey,” I say. “Thank you. I know he pisses you off, I appreciate you calling him.” 

He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm down, then says, “You’re welcome. Sorry. You can leave if you want. I know I can be scary most of the time.” 

He’s still shaking a little. I don’t know why his temper is so awful, but the tiniest things set him off. “Come here.” I hold my hands out to him. He takes them and walks toward me, following my hands as I pull him down to my level. I think Jolene is having some impact on my actions; I usually feel nervous before making a move on someone, but right now, it just feels right. I lean forward and kiss him again. This time, he isn’t in a hurry to pull away. When we naturally break apart a few seconds later, I say, “I’m not afraid of you. I know I can’t solve your anger issues, I’m not here for that. But we both know I can outrun and outgun you if I’m in a situation that warrants it.” 

He chuckles a bit. “Yeah, I know that. And I hope you know that I will never put you in a situation where you’ll need to. I lose my temper on people who deserve it, and sometimes Mikey and Frank and Lester. But you don’t have to worry about it, unless you come at me with a machete first. Then, you’re on your own.” 

I laugh outright, probably the first time I’ve made such a genuinely happy sound in days. “Fair compromise, I’d say.” 

He smiles subtly, then makes contact with my lips again. Barely a second later, we hear, “Honestly Dar, you can do a whole lot better than that.”

Trevor growls into my mouth, then stands up straight and says, “Not another fucking word about my relationships, Michael. You’re not exactly the perfect example of husbandhood yourself.”

“Relax, T, will ya? Take a fucking joke.”

The tall, middle aged man walks fully into the room and takes a seat on the couch across the room. He’s wearing a more casual outfit today, a black polo with tan shorts. “My loneliness is a joke to you, Mike?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he says. “How you doing, Darya? Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Tired, overworked, underfucked, stressed,” I say. “Fine, I guess. How are you?”

He nods. “About the same.”

“Enough of the pleasantries,” Trevor says. “Mikey, I called you because we’re planning a job that doesn’t involve stealing anything, won’t generate any revenue, and has the potential to lock us in prison forever or kill us. You in?”

Michael considers for a few seconds. Finally, he says, “Ah, what the Hell. Hit me.”

“We’re going to murder Jock Cranley.”

“Done,” he says. “That asshole made a move on Tracey a couple months ago at the beach, I’d love nothing more than to see him dead.” 

“Good,” I reply. “Not that he made a move on Tracey, that’s fucking disgusting. I’d shower for a week straight to scrub that nastiness off of me. Lester is in, he's taking care of the details and will get back to us. He’s going to ask Franklin, but I don’t know if he’ll agree. He already said he doesn’t want to be an accessory to his murder when he showed us the info you gave him.” 

Michael nods, but holds up his hand. “Don’t worry about Franklin. If Lester can’t persuade him, I’m sure I can spin it.” 

“Wonderful,” Trevor says, approaching his friend slowly. “The gang is back together, making the world a better place one assassination at a time. Here’s the plan: Franklin, waiting in the van. You, in the air with a sniper rifle. Darya and me, in the house taking the fucker out. Lester, jacking off in the safety of his own home. And your fucking FIB friends are staying fucking out of this. If Darya dies, and your friends try to make me believe she’s in prison for the next ten years, you’re a fucking dead man.” 

Michael snorts. “We’re essentially committing treason on top of first degree murder, T. I’m not getting the FIB involved.” 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he says. 

My phone chimes in my pocket, a text message notification. I take it out and see the message on the home screen. “F is in. Meet tomorrow, 1400, here. L.” 

I nod to myself, sticking it back in my pocket. **Don’t know if you’re still paying attention, but the whole crew is in. It’s a go.**

_You kidding me? This is more entertaining than anything I’ve ever seen, I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. Let’s kill us a son of a bitch._


	6. Chop Suey!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When angels deserve to die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: graphic depictions of violence.

“Everyone copy?” 

“F here.”

“M, copy.”

“T copy.”

“D, let’s go.” 

Michael is staged at the top of a hill, fifty yards  from Jock’s bedroom window. Franklin is at the backyard’s gate in a luxury Cavalcade, the windows tinted completely black for privacy. It’s the kind of luxury SUV that celebrities get transported to important events in, so it doesn't look out of place parked in the service driveway. Lester is patching in security footage from the prior day into every house in the neighborhood that has security cameras; it’s from the exact same time of day, so anyone who checks their footage will see an accurate timestamp. We had to wait a week or so after finalizing the plan. Jock’s wife has the children at an obligation fundraiser, one that his campaign suggested he doesn’t attend, due to a political conflict of interest. 

“M, what do you see?” I ask, into my Bluetooth headset. I probably sound a little muffled, considering we’re all wearing masks. Mine is a skull, menacing and dark. Trevor chose the monkey, because of course he did. I’m hot as balls under this mask; the black boiler suit, binder on my tits, and kevlar gloves aren’t helping, either. 

“Lots of shit I don’t want to see,” Michael says. “He’s watching porn. Gay porn.”

“Typical,” Trevor replies. “The most outspoken assholes against two men fucking are the ones who get off to it behind their wife’s back. See anyone else?”

“Negative,” M says. 

“Ain’t no one ‘round here, neither,” Franklin says. “Wait, shit, just saw somethin’ move in the rearview.”

“That was me,” Trevor replies. “Sorry, homeboy. You ready, D?”

“I’ve been ready since I woke up this morning, let’s go,” I sneer, and lead him around the side of the house. Jock lives in a mansion in the Hills of Vinewood, right at the base of the mountain, so unless someone is at the Vinewood sign with binoculars, no one has a view of us moving against the brick fence. 

“Steady, D,” Michael says. “You’re young, you’re hungry for blood, I get it. This shit can go bad real fast if you skip over anything, slow down.” 

“Thanks, dad,” I reply. 

“Your funeral, kid,” he says. 

Before I can reply to not call me that insidious nickname, Trevor’s hand lands on the small of my back. “Leave it,” he whispers. “He’s right.” 

“I heard that,” Michael says. 

“Of course you did,” Trevor says, growling a bit. “Everything Amanda says goes in one ear and out the other, but you hear crystal clear when someone agrees with you.”

“Bite me.”

I groan slightly, adjusting the grip of my AP pistol in my hands. “Can you two continue your foreplay when this fucker is dead?” 

“Yeah Michael, we have a job to do. Tickle my balls when we’re safe.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

Trevor follows me along the fence, until the hill against his fence rises high enough to let us peer over. Well, it lets Trevor peer over. I’m ten inches shorter than he is, so I’m staring at concrete brick painted an ugly tan color. “Okay,” he says. “No animals, no groundskeepers. M, anything out of the norm?” 

“All clear,” he replies. “If you can climb now, do it. He’s facing the other way in his bedroom.” 

“Alright, Shortcake,” Trevor says. “Up you go.”

I almost scream as he hoists me up and over the wall. I land on my feet, then duck behind a piece of lawn furniture. “Warn me next time,” I hiss into the headset piece. 

“How many more celebrities are you planning on murdering?” he replies, easily climbing over and landing quietly.

I laugh silently to myself. “Not many more, I hope. F, everything good on your end?”

“All good, dawg,” he says. “All the white people on the block havin’ really quiet sex right about now.”

I giggle a bit. “Yeah, probably.” 

“Okay, checking the alarm system… still inactive. Excellent. Get in quick, we never know when he’ll happen to glance at his alarm panel and set it,” Lester instructs, the sound of typing coming through his headset. 

We start walking toward the glass door that leads to his kitchen. “Stay behind me,” Trevor mumbles, cutting me off to lead the way. 

I frown. “Why?”

“Because you’re the first woman who wants to kiss me that I didn’t have to kidnap,” he says. 

I smile slightly, looking up at him even though he’s focused on the path ahead. “I’d like to do a whole lot more than that if we get out of this alive.”

“We all still here, you know,” Franklin says. 

“I still maintain that you can do a whole lot better, D,” Michael says. “And you will make it out of this alive. All else fails, he gets sniped in the head.”

I breathe in and out softly, trying to calm the nerves coursing through my body. I keep reminding myself that Michael is here to finish the job if I can’t, but that just makes me want to back out. I know I shouldn’t, though. Michael offered to just snipe him without the theatrics, but I can’t let him do that. This whole thing is my fault. If I didn’t let myself get haunted by Jolene, we’d all be home right now. It’s my job to do, and I’m going to do my best to finish it myself. I just wish I could get rid of the sinking feeling in my stomach, the one screaming at me to turn around and go home.

Trevor had me bring some bobby pins so he could pick the lock on the back door. He takes them, snaps one in half, and starts to fiddle with them in the lock hole. I hover close to him, mostly for my own personal comfort. I’ve killed dozens of people before, but none of those murders were premeditated. Those people were all trying to kill me first. They were gang members, motorcycle club thugs who wanted to snuff me out and take over my client base. I’m not shy with the trigger when it comes to defending my own life and livelihood, but with first degree murder, I apparently can be a bit squeamish.

“Got it,” he whispers. He gently, slowly turns the handle of the door, barely making any noise as it grants us access to Jock’s mansion. 

**Jolene?**

_Yes, buttercup?_

**I don’t think I can do this.**

_Don’t you give up on me now, or I will haunt you, your children, your grandchildren, and their grandchildren,_. Even as a possession, she can make her voice sound threatening. 

**He has children. I can’t kill their father.**

_He killed his child. You absolutely can._

She does have a point. Still, I hesitate as Trevor starts stepping lightly through the kitchen. This just doesn’t feel right. I hate the bastard, I wouldn’t vote for him if a gun was resting between my eyes at the poll. If he were to be assassinated by literally anyone else, I would feel absolutely nothing. I just don’t think that person can be me. 

“D, come on,” Trevor says quietly. 

I’m frozen in the entrance. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” I reply. That’s a hard fucking thing for me to admit, I hate letting people down. I’ve always had a hard time saying ‘no’ while growing up.

“D, you can’t let that feeling get to you,” Michael says. “Number one killer in this business is hesitation.”

“I know that, I just…” I say. “I’m looking at a picture of him with his kids right now. They have no idea that they’re never going to see their dad again. No matter how big of a piece of shit he is, his kids don’t deserve to feel that awfulness.”

Trevor turns around and looks at me, I’m assuming. His mask hides his eyes. “D, he’s the reason you’re never going to see yours again. If you need to leave, fine. I’m going through with this, though.” 

I follow him further through the kitchen. It’s a huge kitchen, the kind with a double oven and two refrigerators. I have no doubt that he cooks nothing in here, that he hires all the help we wants. Trevor leads me through a doorway to a dark hall. The lights downstairs all appear to be off, but the second floor is pretty sufficiently lit. “Alarm system looks good, cameras look good, keep the pace up,” Lester says. 

We tip toe up the stairs, hoping the volume on his porn is loud enough to drown out the minimal sound coming from our shoes on his hardwood floor. “D, what’s your method?” Lester asks. 

“Neck snap,” I whisper. 

“Are you sure you have the upper body strength to pull that off?”

“Do you want to find out personally?”

I hear T stifle laughter as Franklin says, “Don’t go there, L. Ain’t none of us the enemy here, this shit creepy enough without the infighty bullshit.”

“I’m not trying to imply anything, I just hope you understand that it takes a whole lot more calculation than the movies would have you believe,” Lester says. “You can’t just grab his neck and twist really hard, the most you’ll do is irritate him.” 

I sigh, wanting to groan, but not wanting to get caught. “I know. Use full arm, pull up, throw full body force into it.”

“I personally prefer a judo chop to the wind pipe, but it’s been a while since I’ve been in that sort of business.”

My heart rate triples, the blood in my veins icy as I hear a voice I barely recognize coming from the master bedroom. A tall man steps out; white, but artificially tanned. His hair is silver, a little bushy. He’s about Trevor’s height, but it’s apparent that he eats a little more cookies than T does. “Shit.”

“M, thanks for the warning,” Trevor growls. 

No one responds, which makes me start to panic. My instinct is to turn and run, call the whole thing off and disappear into the night. I think Jolene can sense this. _Don’t you quit on me, Darya. You’ve come this far._

**Yeah, this wasn’t part of the plan. He’s standing right in front of me.**

_Oh for heaven’s sake._

I feel myself lose control of my body. I don’t know if I ate too much sugar, or if the cocaine is finally starting to catch up to me, but it’s almost like I’m having an out of body experience. “Jock Cranley.”

“Whoa, D,” Trevor says. “What are you doing with your voice?”

Jock sizes me up.His eyes wander from my head to my chest, I’m sure he’s disappointed that not much is there right now. “Am I to believe that a 5-foot-nothing tater tot is supposed to be able to kill me with her bare hands?”

“She’s 5’4, needle dick,” the voice coming out of my mouth says. My hand comes up to my face and rips my mask off, as much as I didn’t want it to. “And one way or another, you’ll get yours.”

“Holy shit,” Trevor says, stepping back a bit after looking at me. 

Jock frowns at first. He stares into my eyes, then slowly softens his gaze. “J…Jolene?”

“Hi, Jock,” I reply. 

Trevor grabs me and shoves me in front of the hallway mirror. “Do you want to explain?”

I look at my reflection. My usual dirty blonde hair is now black, still tied into a loose ponytail to fit under the mask. My brown eyes are green, piercing into the reflection of a familiar face that doesn’t belong to me. My skin is pale, almost gray, and I look angry. I can’t help but smirk. “I’m beautiful, ain’t I, honey? A hell of a lot prettier than I been the past forty years.”

“This is impossible,” Jock murmurs, a clear sense of panic in his voice. “This is a trick, this is sorcery! You, you’re supposed to be-“

“Dead?” I say, turning to face him.“Yeah, I am dead. I been dead since 1978, when your dumb ass decided you’d rather commit first degree murder against your wife and child than accept grown up responsibility.” 

“Hey, I have had a magnificent career because of your little accident,” he says. “Maybe I could have divorced you instead, but that was a risk to my career and reputation that I wasn’t willing to take, darling. I dedicated my massively successful career to your memory, is that not enough?”

“Enough?!” I laugh, almost cackle, at him. “I been stuck on this God forsaken Earth for the last four decades because of you. Nothing but your sweet, well-deserved end will be enough for me.” 

I think the reality is finally starting to sink in for him.Trevor is standing to the side, watching the bizarre interaction between the celebrity and me. I don’t know what happened to Michael, and at this point, I can’t even ask. “What about my, my children? Huh? You gonna take their daddy, their livelihood away from them?”

“You took our child’s life away from them,” I bite back. “You parade around this state, talking a big game about how pro-life, pro-fetus and pro-child you are, when in reality, you practically performed an abortion your damn self. You are trash, John Cranley. You hit me when you got drunk, you called me names when I did things better than you, you abandoned my sick parents, and you murdered your family, your own flesh and blood. You are a garbage person, you’re a pathetic excuse of a man, and your time on this planet is done.” 

His hands find their way to my throat. His face is engulfed in anger, his eyes wild as he pushes me to the ground and straddles me. “I don’t know what kind of witch you are, but I killed you for a reason. You sucked the soul out of me. Constant nagging to be a man, to make something of myself, day in and day out. Expecting me to pull my weight around the house when you did nothing but sit around and gossip with your girl friends on the phone. I’ll be happy to suffocate you like you suffocated me all that time.” 

His grip tightens, cutting off my air supply. I can feel the blood rushing to my eyeballs as I lose the ability to breathe. I flail, trying desperately to get him off of me. “T, do something!” I hear Lester’s voice say. He had to have heard that entire ordeal, he must be panicking as much as I am. 

I see Trevor’s large frame move behind Jock. He raises the butt of his shotgun and slams it down on his head, knocking the man off of me. I sit up, my hands rushing to my throat trying to comfort the pain as I gasp for breath. I watch Trevor take the position on Jock that he had on me moments ago and start to suffocate him. He can barely fight back, given the blow he just took to his head. A few minutes later, Trevor is confident enough in his work to let go of the man. He slaps him hard a few times, listens to his chest, and finally checks the pulse on his neck. He’s gone. 

“Target eliminated,” Trevor says, before scurrying over to me. “Are you okay?” 

“I think,” I reply. “What the fuck happened?”

“You looked like a different person,” he says. “You were talking in a real strong hick accent, you fought with him about abortions and shit. I have no idea. If you’re okay, we need to go. Get to the car, I’ll bring him down. We have to go, now.”

_Son of a bitch._

I frown. **You’re still here?** ”D, can you get up?”

“Yes,” I say, but accept his help to my feet anyway. 

He peels his mask off just enough to plant a kiss on the top of my head. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers. “We have to go, though. We need to dump this son of a bitch and find the other fat son of a bitch.” 

I nod, then pull my mask back on. My AP pistol returns to the ready as I make my way down the labyrinth path to his kitchen. No cops are swarming, no one from the FIB is waiting for me. I open the door to the back seat behind Franklin and get in, heaving a heavy sigh when I sit. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, D,” Michael says, turning to look at me from the passenger seat up front. “Park rangers showed up and started kicking out people hiking at the base, I had to get out of there fast.”

“It’s okay,” I reply. I rest my head in my left hand, a wave of nausea hitting me hard. “It’s done. He came after me, T took care of it.”

The trunk door opens, then we hear a struggle, followed by a loud thud that shakes the vehicle. The door closes, then Trevor joins me in the back behind Michael. “What took so long, dawg?”

“Found some rope and tied it around his neck for insurance,” Trevor says. 

I’m barely paying attention. I want to cry, but I feel like I can’t. I hate what just happened, and I hate that I was ever involved in this plot. **Jolene, you still here?**

_I really thought it would work,_ her crying voice says. _I was ready to go, Darya. I don’t know what else to do._

I lean my head back, desperate to get some air conditioning flow into my mask. We’ve been instructed by Lester not to take them off until we’re safe back at his garment factory, after dumping the body. **What happens if you de-possess me?**

_I go back to the mountain and stay until the world ends, I guess. I’ll never see my parents again, I’ll never get to meet my little angel baby. This is bullshit!_

**Is there any other unfinished business you might have left? Anything you can think of? I’ll help you, I just need to know how.**

_I don’t know. My parents are dead now, I had no other family. No other loose ends, unless being murdered is unfinished business._

I frown. **What do you mean?**

_All this anger I’ve felt the past 40 years, I thought it was because Jock betrayed me, and turned his back on our marriage. But evidently, it wasn’t. I don’t know if I was even angry at him anymore, I just… I wanted to live. I wanted to grow old, hit menopause, be someone’s grandmama. I didn’t get to die when everyone else gets to, I didn’t get to choose how old I got to be. Jock going off the deep end or not, I was cheated out of a life that I so desperately wanted to live. And I don’t know how to finish that business as a ghost._

**Shit,** I reply.

“Is D okay?”

“Yes, you fat piece of shit,” Trevor growls. “D is fine. She’s probably sleeping, after what she just went through.” 

_I’m real sorry, Darya. I never would have dragged you into this if I knew it wasn’t going to work._

**I know.** I put my mind to work. I need to figure this out, to get this ghost lady out of my body and get on with my life. Avenging her death clearly wasn’t enough. Making people aware of it, like in that one movie with the girl in the well and the video tape, didn’t do shit either. She’s so certain that the unfinished business thing is real, I’m sure the other ghosts she claims are on the mountain have told her that. I don’t know what to do. If it’s relating to her death in general, what can I do to fix that? 

As I pick my own brain, a thought occurs to me. She’s pissed that someone else decided when she died. She didn’t get to live, she didn’t get to let her deity decide when she went. She didn’t have a choice. I have a choice, and she lives in me. I’m too tired, too fucked up from what I just witnessed, to think up anything else. I hope I’m right, because if I’m not, 31 is going to be my life span. 

I sit up and pull off my mask. “D, what’s up?” Trevor asks me. “We’re not clear yet.”

Without a word, I pick up my AP pistol and look at it. _I know what you’re thinking, Darya. You don’t do anything stupid, you got it? I’ll be fine. ___

__“D, what’s going on?” I look up at Michael, who is turned around in his chair, peering at me through his hockey mask._ _

__**Go be with your parents,** I tell her. **If I can’t be, I want you to be.**_ _

__I start to raise my pistol to my head, Jolene doing everything in her power to try and stop me. She’s weak, though. She’s low on energy after what she did in Jock’s house, I win in the end. “D, what’s happening? Talk to me,” Trevor says. “What are you feeling?”_ _

__I look at him, frowning a bit. I’m terrified by what I’m about to do. I have no idea if it’s going to work, I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife. I’ve always been afraid of death, regardless of how reckless I can be with my drug use and business operation. Still, she’s been waiting 40 years to be with her family. I can’t stand in her way. I turn my head to face forward, so I’ll miss Franklin. As I raise my gun to my head, I hear Trevor say, “D, no!”_ _

__I pull the trigger._ _


	7. Darts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A hitman, a nun, lovers._

**Gunshot**. A scream. The feeling of falling. Lights flashing around me. I clenched my eyes shut when I pulled the trigger. The sound of footsteps entices me to try and open them. I’m terrified at what I’m about to see. I relax my facial muscles, then slowly peel my eyes open. 

Everything’s fuzzy at first, almost like I’m looking through a glass window being pounded with rain. I’m surrounded by light, with blurry orb-like things moving around me. It feels like I’m waking up, almost. The footsteps draw closer. I feel my body, trying to decipher if it’s whole. I don’t feel pain, it doesn’t seem like I’m missing anything. Is this what death feels like? 

“Hello?” I call out. 

The footsteps stop. I must be on the ground, because a mass of a person moves in front of me, then leans over to stand above me. “Darya, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” 

The voice sounds far away, as does my response. Everything has a bit of a delay, it seems. “Darya?”

I snap out of my daze, and my surroundings become clearer. I’m in a garden, washed out with light. There’s meadows of flowers, trees, rocks, the sound of water running in the background. I am on the ground, though I have no recollection of laying down. I stand and greet the woman in front of me. “Jolene?”

“Look at me,” she says. Her voice is soft, almost ethereal. I can tell she’s pleased with how she looks. It makes me wonder if she knew how truly horrifying she was in ghost form. 

I smile at her, taking in the sight in front of me. She was already gorgeous when she was alive, but the added softness she has from the halo of light encompassing her is breathtaking. “Wow. What’s that you’re wearing?”

It’s a beautiful little sundress, white fabric with pastel floral print. It has cap sleeves, that are a little frilly at the ends. She looks down and beams, smoothing her hands over the knee-length skirt. “This is my favorite outfit. I bought it for a nickel at a yard sale, never been worn before. The lady who sold it to me said her daughter bought it and she thought it made her look like a hussy. I just love it.”

I laugh a bit. “If that’s grounds for being a hussy in the 70’s, she’d have an aneurysm walking down Vinewood Boulevard today.”

“No doubt,” she says, the smile on her face never faltering. 

“So… where are we?”

She takes a brief look around, then says, “Heaven, I’d imagine.”

“I made it to Heaven? Saint Peter must have a thing for blondes, because I never would have thought I’d make it here.”

She laughs, a cute laugh somewhere between a cackle and a giggle. “I told you once, I’ll tell you again. Stop selling yourself short.”

“I’m a bisexual drug manufacturer who has murdered people,” I say. “I probably broke more rules than I followed when I was alive. I didn’t even believe in Heaven or Hell.”

“Well, some things matter more than others,” she says. “You were right. I know you never meant to kill anyone, you were just defending yourself. When it came to committing premeditated murder, you couldn’t find it in yourself to do it. You didn’t want to put his kids through the same pain he put you through. In fact, you sacrificed your own life so I could make it here.”

“I mean, if you want to get technical about it.”

She grins at me, walking over and hugging me. “I could never thank you enough, Darya. I ain’t never met someone as selfless and kind as you are. I haunted you without your permission, and you still did something this massive just to get me home.”

I shrug. “I have a successful business operation I run, but I still feel empty every day.My life was meaningless, and helping you made me feel like I mattered to someone.” 

“You do matter to someone,” she replies. She finally lets me out of her vice grip of a hug, but remains holding my hands. “I seen inside your gentleman friend’s head too, not just yours. He thinks the world of you, you know.”

I scoff a bit. “Yeah, I doubt that. He wants to fuck me, everyone wants to fuck me. Once they spend five minutes with the shit storm that is my personality, they bolt.”

“He’s spent a lot more time than five minutes with your personality, and he thinks the sun shines out your round little booty,” she says. “If you don’t like him, fine. I’m not sayin’ you have to marry the man. You just need to know that you have a positive impact on the world, whether it’s on your own life or not.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “I had a positive impact. I’m dead now.”

“Not quite,” she says. 

I frown at her. Her hands are so warm, in a comforting way. Such a juxtaposition to her form for the past forty years. “I’m in Heaven, somehow. I feel pretty dead.”

“Yes, you are dead in the technical sense of the word,” she says. “But you better start believing in miracles, because you’re probably about to become one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used the last of my energy blocking the bullet from your brain,” she says. “My soul was able to depart with yours, which is why I’m here with you. Your body is salvageable, though. And they’re trying to save you right now, actually. Not in a hospital, of course. Your little boyfriend brought you to his paranoid friend for first aid, since the bullet barely penetrated your head. It’s up to you if you go back or not. Big man upstairs is letting you make that choice, since you did what you did for a complete stranger.” 

I can only react in laughter. It all sounds so preposterous, like I can’t believe it even though it’s happening right in front of me. “Really?”

She nods. “Yeah. You can come with me, and we can live in the garden of the Lord together. Or, you can go back to your body and make a better life for yourself. I’d recommend more therapy, personally.”

I snort. “Now you’re sounding like my best friend.”

“Good, she’s the one person on Earth that you listen to. Maybe you should listen to me,” she says. “What’ll it be?”

I sigh, breaking my hands away before running them through my hair. It’s never felt so soft before. “My parents aren’t here, are they? My mom hasn’t emailed me back in like a month.”

“No, they ain’t here,” she says. “But maybe it’s time for you to stop sulking and pay them a visit, huh? If you can afford a new iFruit phone every time a new one comes out, you can afford a plane ticket to Armenia. I know them leaving was traumatic, but you gotta face it sometime, darlin’.”

I nod, looking at my feet. I’m barefoot, which I didn’t notice until now. I don’t feel anything. My emotions are calm, I’m not tired, my knees aren’t killing me like they normally are. In fact, I feel the best I’ve ever felt. Why would I want to go back to Earth? Still, I know she’s right. There’s a lot of stuff I blame other people for, yet never try to confront myself. “Yeah.”

“Go,” she says. “I know you want to. Keep being the sweet lady you are, and you’ll be back when the time is right.”

“Okay,” I say, giving her a reassuring nod. “Thank you for saving my body, I guess.”

She laughs softly again, her eyes glowing with the happiness of finally knowing peace. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’ll see you.”

I nod, then hug her tightly once more. We hang on for who knows how long; she’s so warm, so full of life, I can’t bring myself to let go. I finally force myself to, and watch her turn and walk away. She gets about twenty feet away before I see two people join her. They’re older, maybe about 60. You could have copied and pasted the man’s eyes onto Jolene’s face, which leads me to believe they’re her parents. He’s carrying a little baby, maybe 9 months old, who lets out a sound of joy as Jolene reaches them. She takes the baby from her dad and plants dozens of kisses on its face, before turning to look at a me and using their little hand to wave. Regardless of whatever shit storm I’m about to go back to on Earth, that little gesture alone makes this entire ordeal worth it for me. 

Now the only thing I need to figure out is how to get back. I got here with my gun, which I obviously don’t have now. I don’t remember going through an actual gate, I just kind of woke up here. “Uh… God? Hi, it’s me. Don’t know if you can hear me, but I choose Earth. If you could like, show me how to get there, that’d be great. Please.”

Nothing happens. Figures, that would be my luck. Jolene and her parents left, they’re off making up the lost time together. I guess there are worse places to be stranded. I pick a direction and start walking. I follow a stream, through a well-lit forest. There isn’t a single bug in sight, which is how I know I’m in Heaven. Now that I know what the dress code is, I can pick a new favorite outfit before I die for real; walking around Heaven in a Metallica shirt without pants or a bra is a little embarrassing, albeit on brand for me. I walk until I get bored, then sit on a boulder. Eternal life with no one I know sucks, not going to lie. At least when my parents are here, my mom and I can bicker like we do whenever we’re in the same room. 

“Can I please go home now?” I yell at the sky. It’s a gorgeous, pastel green color. I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same color for every other dead person here. “I promise I’ll go to therapy more.”

My head slumps in my hand. I almost kick a rock, but figure that might be frowned upon here. I notice a bee flying by, which fascinates me. Does God know I love bees, yet am terrified of spiders? Is Heaven custom made for each individual person? It can’t be a coincidence that the landscape is made of all my favorite colors. As I ponder this, and wonder if I’ll come across an ocean with some whales in it, I hear a huge crashing sound, like thunder right above me. A bright light instantly shines, encompassing my entire field of vision. Suddenly, I find myself gasping for breath, violently hurling myself into a sitting position. “Holy shit!” Ron’s voice screams. 

“GET OUT OF THE WAY,” Trevor’s thunderous voice screams, and not a second later, I feel a heavy body throwing itself on me. He hugs me tightly, my weak body trembling against his as he says, “What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” 

I feel fresh tears of his rain down onto my head. It’s throbbing on the side I tried to shoot, a bandage held firmly in place with a shit ton of gauze around my head. “I h-had to,” I croak, my voice sounding like I deep throated a cobra. “You saw her, she was in m-me. I had to get her out.” 

“You are fucking crazy, kid,” he says, his grip on me so tight, he might inadvertently send me right back. “Don’t you ever do that shit to me again, you hear me? I demand to go first.”

I smile a bit, letting myself get pythoned by him. “Okay. You can go first.”

“I’ve seen some truly fucked up shit in my life, but that was one of the most horrifying experiences I’ve ever had.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say, until he lets go of me and I can catch my breath. I lay back down, against the shirt that Ron turned into a makeshift pillow, then say, “I wasn’t planning on doing that. Killing you know who didn’t free her spirit like she thought it would. Killing myself did.” 

“Fuck,” he says. 

I look around. This isn’t his trailer, or my house. “Where are we?”

“Ron’s bunker,” he says. “Plans changed a little bit after you decided to blow your brains out. F is taking care of J, and the car. He'll meet us here when it's done. M is pretending he never met us before, and L is probably watching some college girl's webcam and jerking off by now." 

"Yeah," I say, chuckling a little bit. "Can I ask you something that's been bothering me lately?"

"Yeah," he says. "Should I be nervous? I hate being nervous."

"No," I reply, beaming at him from where I lay. "Did you ask Lester to hack into my cloud and get my topless pics?"

He snorts, looking down at my face from where he sits next to me. I'm on a metal table, it's highly uncomfortable and I doubt it can hold both of our weights for much longer. "Of course not. He got them on his own and offered them to me. It was shitty of me to accept, I'll admit that, but the thought never even occurred to me. I can buy a titty magazine for a buck across the street from my place; I may think up a lot of creepy shit, but nothing like that." 

"You literally ask to fuck me at every DinD session. It wasn't completely out of the question to wonder."

"I guess," he sighs. "I just, I think you're pretty, alright? And you're smart, and you always smell good, you have a really quick wit and you make me laugh all the time. I'm not the best with words, I know that. It’s hard to tell people this shit, it makes me feel vulnerable and I fucking HATE that feeling."

I can't help but continue to smile at him. I don't respond well when people asking for sex are super direct, but getting to know him over this entire ordeal has really made me warm up to him. He's abrasive as hell, he can be scary at times, but he has mostly decent intentions. Honestly, I can't say I'm exactly a saint. "I know that. But that's okay, because I can stand up for myself. I didn't fuck you before because I didn't want to, I didn't know you all that super well. But now, it isn't the craziest thing I've ever thought of. And you do owe me a date." 

He returns my smile with a slight grin. "Yeah. Whenever you feel up to it." 

We hear a pounding on the large metal door leading to the outside world. Ron scampers over and peers through the peephole, which he had to have special installed when he bought the space. All the technology in the world, and he still only trusts the hole. “I think it’s your associate, Trevor.”

“Well then let him in, genius,” Trevor growls. 

Ron unlocks the door and swings it open, revealing Franklin standing in the murky stairwell that led him down. He’s panting, sweating, he looks scared. “Franklin, my n-word. What’s going on, homie?”

“We gots ta go, y’all. They onto us.”

“Who?” I ask. 

“Shit, dude. The cops, the FIB by now probably, I wouldn’t be surprised of the goddamn president bout to roll up and pop us one. The fuckin’ coast guard assholes came to investigate the car they saw drivin’ into the fuckin’ ocean. I ran as fast as I could, but they mighta followed me.” 

“GOD DAMN IT, FRANK,” Trevor screams. He had stood up, and is now stalking over to get directly into the young man’s face. “HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING IN YOUR CREEPY FUCKING RELATIONSHIP WITH THE FAT CUNT?” 

“Man, fuck you!” Franklin spits back. “I ain’t sign up for this shit, I’m fuckin’ out. Peace, fools. Don’t call me to bail your asses out when they find you.” 

Trevor growls, turning into a scream as he yells after him. “YOU’RE A FUCKING DEAD MAN, YOU HEAR ME? FUCKING DEAD!” 

My heart is pounding out of my chest. I probably should have stayed dead if this is how it’s going to end. “Okay,” I say, trying to force myself into enough calmness to think. “Uh, shit. Okay. Ron, calm down. Stay down here for a few days, okay? You weren’t with us, you aren’t part of this at all. It’s okay. Trevor, we need to go.”

“Where?”

“Literally anywhere!” I shriek. “The moon for all I care, get us out of San Andreas!” 

We heard commotion on the surface, sirens and helicopter blades, mainly. “Shit,” he says. “They must have followed the dumb fuck here. RONALD.”

“Y-yes, Trevor?” The balding man is trembling, almost as if all his worst fears are being realized right in front of his face. 

“Transportation, now.”

“There’s uh, an old chopper out back, by the beach,” Ron says. “I bought it for a couple thousand from someone I met near the military base. It may or may not be haunted.”

Trevor snorts. “Sold.”

“Good luck, Trevor.” 

Trevor takes both of my hands and hoists me to my feet. I ditch the gloves and boiler suit, leaving me in my black leggings and white tank top. My tits are still bound tightly to my chest, which is starting to get super uncomfortable. I don’t have much time to care about that now, though. Trevor leaves his boiler suit on. “Can you run?”

“Do I have a choice?”

My throat is still on fire from being choked out by the shit stain, but that really doesn’t matter when running from the law. Trevor and I run to the back entrance, closer to where the chopper would be parked. He throws the door open, and I bolt out in front of him. Search lights are scouring the trees where the bunker is hidden, a police helicopter overhead. Cop cars zoom by, sirens blaring as they lock down the area. We aren’t too far from my house, naturally. All this stupid shit always seems to happen near my house. 

I struggle to breathe fully as I sprint to the helicopter parked 300 or so yards away. Even slightly injured, I still run faster than Trevor. I fling open the heavy door, adrenaline coursing through me as all I can focus on is leaving. I climb over and let him assume the main controls, since he’s far better at flying these things than I am. Granted, I’ve only tried once or twice. He’s been trained by the Canadian Royal Air Force. 

As he starts up the motor, cop cars start to encase the vehicle. We hear a loud speaker start to blare a voice. “Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air immediately.”

“Combat start up, Ron did something right for once,” Trevor mutters. “Don’t bother buckling up, Shortcake. I have a feeling we’ll be ditching this pretty fast.”

I hold onto the side as he lifts off the ground, navigating haphazardly through the trees. The police chopper tries to block us from going up further, but they have no idea that Trevor is fucking psychotic behind the controls of an aircraft. He cuts it straight forward through some trees, over the Pacific Ocean, then swiftly away. We lose the ground force pretty fast, but the chopper is staying right on our tail. 

“Trev, where’s my gun?”

“Michael has it,” he replies. 

“God damn it, Trevor!” I shriek. “Why the fuck does Michael have it?”

“Because we thought you were fucking dead, you psychopath!” He screams. “Because you put it to your head and tried to blow your fucking brains out! He took it because it fell on the ground when we got you out of the car, and I was too preoccupied with carrying you into the bunker to pick it up. Sorry.”

I groan, my head hitting the back of my seat. It’s over. The cops are going to catch us, we’ll end up in prison for life, and I’ll just end up killing myself in prison eventually. I doubt the director of the FIB is going to be as lenient as God was. “You armed?” 

“Nope. But it looks like this bird is.”

I look where he’s pointing on the console. I can’t read this shit at all, I have no idea what it means. “…Kay.”

He rolls his eyes subtly, which makes me want to punch him in the throat. In due time, perhaps. “Gatling gun. 6 barrels, 6,000 rounds per minute, if it were newly issued. It’ll do. I’m going to push the button to bring out the cannon, you take these controls and fight. I don’t know how much ammo is in here, so don’t just pray and spray.” 

He pulls forward the controls to me, almost in my lap. “It’s heavy, so throw your upper body into it. Trigger is on the left.”

I nod, turning on the screen to show the aiming view behind us. The police had opened fire on us after several warnings, so I feel no remorse in returning it. It takes a few seconds to warm up the gun, then the bullets start flying. "Holy fuck!" 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Trevor says. "Compliments of 90% of your federal tax dollars. 

"Can you fly steady for a second?"

"No can do, darlin'," he says. "Unless you want another bullet in your skull." 

I scoff at him, while trying to aim at the chopper behind me. "I didn't want the first bullet in my skull." 

It's without a doubt the hardest weapon I've ever used in my life. The controls are reversed, basically, so yanking it right shoots the cannons left. It is exorbitantly hard to maneuver it in general, which makes it even more nerve-wracking since I'm trying to avoid hitting innocent civilians. "I can tell you're getting worked up, calm down," he says. "You think best when you're calm."

"Easy for you to say! You're not trying to take down a police helicopter with a malfunctioning machine gun on an unsteady vehicle!" 

"Hey, I'm freaking the FUCK out right now," he shouts. "But I'm trying to stay FUCKING calm because panicking will kill us. I'm going to fly higher in a second, super fast. That's your window to open fire. Don't worry about aiming for the people, just shooting it out of the sky will work." 

"Okay," I say, feeling the familiar tightening in my chest that I feel when I know I'm about to kill someone. 

He rapidly accelerates, giving us a few feet of altitude in seconds. "Go!" 

I swing the barrels around and hold the trigger. Bullets fly out of the gun, peppering the helicopter below us. I get about three seconds until they're up to our level, throwing explosives at us. "Fuck!" I shout. 

"Keep shooting!" 

He swerves, trying to throw off their trail. When I get another good vantage point, I open fire. The windshield is clearly bulletproof on their helicopter, so trying to hit one of them is futile. We had strayed to be over the beach in Chumash, unfortunately a popular destination for tourism. 

"T, we're going to kill a lot of innocent people down there," I say. “Lots of children.” 

“Alrighty,” he grumbles, but veers to the east a bit. 

“LAND YOUR AIRCRAFT IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE FORCEFULLY EJECTED FROM THE SKY.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Trevor says. “Come on, Shortcake.” 

I can’t fully lock on at any point, this seems impossible. I feel defeated. The sound of bullets peppering the side of our helicopter isn’t helping, nor is the thought of prison in my near future. “This is impossible,” I tell him. 

He scoffs. “This is not impossible. I’ve seen you take on a full gang of hillbillies with nothing but a hunting knife and your combat skills, you are capable of more than you know. Stop getting in your own head and blow these fuckers out of the sky.”

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you!" he says, sounding an awful lot like yelling. "Now isn't the time to need a peptalk, we're either about to get arrested or killed! Shoot the assholes! We're over the river, no one is nearby, now is the time to start spraying! SHIT!" 

A missile from another police helicopter hurtles toward us. He pivots abruptly, missing it by a few feet before pursuing on toward the bridge over the rapids. "I have an idea," I say. "Fly under the bridge and ascend, I think I can get them to run into each other." 

"You got it."

He juts underneath the bridge. The helicopters are trying to follow, but their pilots are trained to not be as crazy as T is. Trevor whips the bird around to face them, then launches us upward. I feel so fucking sick right now, from movement, from the predicament we're in, everything. I take aim at the helicopter on the right side, since the other one is barely visible, like it's hiding behind the bridge. I open fire, yelling at Trevor, "RIGHT." 

It takes a few seconds to execute what I wanted to do, but I have him angle the machine to better face the guns at them. I have a brief window where their rotors are in my crosshairs, so I take the opportunity and fire. It starts smoking after a few seconds, until finally, it causes something to fail in the system. They stop turning, the only momentum coming from their rear rotors. The off-balance of their movement causes them to bump into their partner helicopter, the tails getting briefly entangled by the angle of the stalled vehicle starting to go down. It pulls the other one to an altitude that allows me to reach them with my gun. I stall them, as well, watching the machines tumble out of the air and into the rapids. 

"Fuck," Trevor hisses, visibly slumping in his seat. 

"We need to go," I reply. 

He nods, then picks a direction and flies. "We can go to my airfield and torch this bird. After that, we need to find a place to run. We have to assume that they were chasing us because of Jock, that they know he's dead and they know we killed him. We can't take a chance on thinking otherwise."

"Yeah," I say. "You're right. And I'm sorry, Trev. I dragged you into this lunacy without thinking of how it could derail your life. Now, we're both going to live in hiding forever."

"You don't have to apologize for that, Shortcake," he says. He reaches over and takes my hand briefly. I'm pretty sure he needs both to fly, though, so he doesn't hold it. "TPI can run anywhere TP is. Question is, where do we go?" 

I sigh a bit, running a hand through my sweaty hair. "I don't know. We're likely on the FIB's list by now. We need somewhere that we can blend. Somewhere both of our businesses can flourish. Somewhere far, obviously, but we can't use passports to go out of the country." 

He nods. His face looks thoughtful as he heads back toward Sandy Shores, around the back side of the mountain range from the river. "Where in the good ol' USA can we manage to run cocaine, meth, and heavy supplies of illegal arms in and out of the country?" 

"Besides Blaine County? Who knows."

He smirks to himself, messing with the dials on the console in front of him. "I think I do."

"Oh really?" 

"Lester, it's Trevor... Yes, I'm aware of that. That's why I'm calling… Right, anyway. We need one last thing from you, before we can let you lay low… Find me a plane that can make it across the country and whose signal can be wiped from the military's tracking devices… Yeah, it needs to make it across the entire country. About 2,700 miles… 10-4, Tiny Tim."

"You really need to stop calling him that when he's saved our asses countless times," I say. 

He shrugs. "I'll consider it. We have half an hour to ditch this thing and get to the plane. We have a trip ahead of us."

"What about my cat?"

"We can't go back to your place now," he says. "I'll have Wade stop by and grab her, she'll be with you in a week, tops. I promise."

"Okay," I concede, nervously. "So, where are we going? Where is this magical land, where two felons can run rampant with their hard drugs and firearms with no one batting an eye?"

He grips the controls in excitement, his face contorting into an ominous grin as he looks at me. Whether it's excitement about the destination or the journey ahead, I have no idea. As long as we're going somewhere with a shower, a bed, and no ghosts, I really couldn't care less. "We're going to Vice City, baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Darya and Trevor will return in The Next Nine Years, coming soon._


End file.
